schweblog

Spent most of yesterday in the presence of a woman that I’ve taken a liking to recently. After previously hearing about her desire to become “well read,” I decided to get her a couple of books for Christmas. I settled on J.D. Salinger’s Nine Stories and Milan Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightness of Being. When I wasn’t comfortably settled in her arms or helping her get ready for her vacation in various ways, I had my nose stuck in Kundera’s book. It has been over a year since I’ve read it and forgot how poignant he was. I had also forgotten about his introduction of Nietzsche’s idea of eternal recurrence in the novel’s first chapters. It’s an idea that intrigues me because I think it’s significant to everyone’s lives and, on a more personal level, everyone’s search for meaning.

Eternal recurrence essentially posits that actions and events gain weight only when they are repeated. Thus, if a particular event takes place over and over again, then it will become heavy–known, considered, studied, and imprinted on the minds of those touched by it. On the other hand–and this is the case of reality and, generally, human life–if there is no eternal recurrence, then the event is “lighter”. It could be truly lucid and clear as day when experienced, but unless repeated, it will not have significance. Thus, our very existence in this life–which only happens once, by common convention–is inevitably and unavoidably light. We cannot exist at the same time as the same person twice and, thus, we are condemned to a lifetime (or lifetimes, if you put stock into reincarnation) of light, potentially meaningless existence(s).

I don’t know how much stock to put in the theory and whether or not it’s really a constructive approach to…well…anything. While I cannot reject on a very fundamental level, it seems to point one towards an approach in life that is without hope. If one cannot create meaning for themselves due to their own finitude, then why even try? What use is there in living if meaninglessness–lightness–cannot be escaped? I think the answer to this problem lies within the individual and, if an answer is found, the lightness of existence is vindicated as valid, important, and significantly meaningful.

What is the measure of significance? Who is to determine what has weight and what is simply fleeting? Granted, our lives–the lives of me and you and most everyone we know–will not be remembered and, in every sense of the word, will not have “weight.” But what if one embraces the lightness of being as not “unberable”, like Kundera puts it, but as freeing? Suddenly, we become the measure of our successes and failures. We are the masters of this one single existence, free and responsible to give it whatever meaning we wish. Our life is an entry in a dictionary of a million other words, but the definition for your name–the words that will follow your name on your tombstone in the metaphysical cemetary of universal memory–are your doing and your doing alone.

Responsibility. On the surface, it is a liberating thought–to have exact control of your destiny, your definition!–but it is frightening and daunting at the same time.