“You realize, of course, this problem of life isn’t solvable in my presence,” the Master said.
“But sir,” the Student said, “surely you have insights you can pass on. Why do you call life problematic?”
“Oh! Sure, I have a few insights, but I don’t know whether they apply to everyone or just to me. When I look at the ‘problem of life,’ I’m caught up just defining the problem. No doubt many have said, now say, and will say that life isn’t a problem to be solved, but rather a series of episodes to be lived adventurously. But that episodic nature is what I call problematic. After all, it’s difficult for anyone to know much about the next ‘episode.’ In the context of unpredictable episodes, I find problematic the ‘purpose’ of life, its explanation, its origin, and its relationship to some other kind of existence, other humans, for example, but also God.
“As my Student, you have committed yourself to following me, but I know people can have different kinds of relationship with others, anonymous ones. All of us can, for example, think of some sports hero, some politician, some movie star, or some religious or cult leader as having a powerful influence on the lives of others. That can happen without their personally knowing their followers. Many followers follow anonymously. And there’s reciprocity: Anonymous followers also seem to have an influence on the ‘followed,’ if not individually, then collectively as members of some (adoring) throng, maybe tens of thousands cheering or even swooning in a stadium. And then I would ask you to think Facebook and Twitter; think tabloids; think Entertainment Tonight and talk-show interviews in front of pliable audiences eager to share somehow in the lives of the rich and famous.”
“I don’t quite understand. How is this a problem?” the Student asked. “Should I leave you now to go off on my own, discovering what random episodes might have to teach?”
In answer, the Master said, “If one ‘follows’ another, for what purpose is the ‘following’? Following is historically a part of life, and it has obviously many motivations. But ‘following’ itself? Is it the nature of life? Are we intellectual, spiritual, or emotional ducklings that bear an imprint? Is ‘following’ built in? Instinctive? Do we from birth seek to follow? And if we do, is it because some have followers that we deem them to be heroic and imbued with leadership? Is it for simulacra? Is it by imposition? That just brings me to another problem.
“If we are following, then the question of destination becomes the corollary problem of life. Where are we going? We know from world history how many followers have succumbed to forces of destruction and self-destruction by following; the German people under Hitler, for example. Following gets us into trouble when we have no insight about the path down which we are led. What if those who lead are mere mortals themselves? What if they have no clear path, no ultimate insight? What if their ‘plan’ has a flaw? Or, what if they are simply living episodic lives subject to the same chance occurrences that seem to affect all of us? Even if they do have a plan, hasn’t every such plan—unless it has a specific finite and near-term goal—some flaw, something not anticipated? Remember, my Student, I have always taught you that what is anticipated is rarely a problem.”
“Yes, Master, but you also said that because we enter future episodes somewhat myoptically, perfect anticipation is impossible.”
“You are becoming wise, my Student. After thousands of years of struggling with the problem of life in all its variations, are we any farther along a path of understanding than the ancients? Think, my Student, of the Upanishads. We don’t know how long ago those responsible for its lines began to offer some advice to follow. Was it several thousand years before Buddha? Was it long an oral tradition before someone took stylus to clay? Why, if we were ‘human’ for something like 200 to 300 preceding thousands of years, did we just so recently become interested in philosophical and theological discussions, in aphorisms, and in advice? Were there no discussions about life’s problematic nature around those campfires of long ago?”
The Student then posed four questions: “Is there some way to know what those first humans did? Should we assume that they always followed some shaman, placing their trust in his leadership? Did the most ancient of us follow without knowing the destination? Does it mean that humans have always lived episodic lives and not purposeful, independent ones governed by anticipation?”
“Scary questions in themselves, my inquisitive Student. Let me quote the ancient Upanishads: ‘Beyond the great Atman is the Unmanifested; beyond the Unmanifested is the Purusha (the Cosmic Soul); beyond the Purusha there is nothing. That is the end, that is the final goal.’ What if in our current following we reach that goal?”
“Can we know by following, Master?”
“Go away. Pay no attention to me. That’s the only way you will find your answers. Lead.”
“But sir,” the Student said, “surely you have insights you can pass on. Why do you call life problematic?”
“Oh! Sure, I have a few insights, but I don’t know whether they apply to everyone or just to me. When I look at the ‘problem of life,’ I’m caught up just defining the problem. No doubt many have said, now say, and will say that life isn’t a problem to be solved, but rather a series of episodes to be lived adventurously. But that episodic nature is what I call problematic. After all, it’s difficult for anyone to know much about the next ‘episode.’ In the context of unpredictable episodes, I find problematic the ‘purpose’ of life, its explanation, its origin, and its relationship to some other kind of existence, other humans, for example, but also God.
“As my Student, you have committed yourself to following me, but I know people can have different kinds of relationship with others, anonymous ones. All of us can, for example, think of some sports hero, some politician, some movie star, or some religious or cult leader as having a powerful influence on the lives of others. That can happen without their personally knowing their followers. Many followers follow anonymously. And there’s reciprocity: Anonymous followers also seem to have an influence on the ‘followed,’ if not individually, then collectively as members of some (adoring) throng, maybe tens of thousands cheering or even swooning in a stadium. And then I would ask you to think Facebook and Twitter; think tabloids; think Entertainment Tonight and talk-show interviews in front of pliable audiences eager to share somehow in the lives of the rich and famous.”
“I don’t quite understand. How is this a problem?” the Student asked. “Should I leave you now to go off on my own, discovering what random episodes might have to teach?”
In answer, the Master said, “If one ‘follows’ another, for what purpose is the ‘following’? Following is historically a part of life, and it has obviously many motivations. But ‘following’ itself? Is it the nature of life? Are we intellectual, spiritual, or emotional ducklings that bear an imprint? Is ‘following’ built in? Instinctive? Do we from birth seek to follow? And if we do, is it because some have followers that we deem them to be heroic and imbued with leadership? Is it for simulacra? Is it by imposition? That just brings me to another problem.
“If we are following, then the question of destination becomes the corollary problem of life. Where are we going? We know from world history how many followers have succumbed to forces of destruction and self-destruction by following; the German people under Hitler, for example. Following gets us into trouble when we have no insight about the path down which we are led. What if those who lead are mere mortals themselves? What if they have no clear path, no ultimate insight? What if their ‘plan’ has a flaw? Or, what if they are simply living episodic lives subject to the same chance occurrences that seem to affect all of us? Even if they do have a plan, hasn’t every such plan—unless it has a specific finite and near-term goal—some flaw, something not anticipated? Remember, my Student, I have always taught you that what is anticipated is rarely a problem.”
“Yes, Master, but you also said that because we enter future episodes somewhat myoptically, perfect anticipation is impossible.”
“You are becoming wise, my Student. After thousands of years of struggling with the problem of life in all its variations, are we any farther along a path of understanding than the ancients? Think, my Student, of the Upanishads. We don’t know how long ago those responsible for its lines began to offer some advice to follow. Was it several thousand years before Buddha? Was it long an oral tradition before someone took stylus to clay? Why, if we were ‘human’ for something like 200 to 300 preceding thousands of years, did we just so recently become interested in philosophical and theological discussions, in aphorisms, and in advice? Were there no discussions about life’s problematic nature around those campfires of long ago?”
The Student then posed four questions: “Is there some way to know what those first humans did? Should we assume that they always followed some shaman, placing their trust in his leadership? Did the most ancient of us follow without knowing the destination? Does it mean that humans have always lived episodic lives and not purposeful, independent ones governed by anticipation?”
“Scary questions in themselves, my inquisitive Student. Let me quote the ancient Upanishads: ‘Beyond the great Atman is the Unmanifested; beyond the Unmanifested is the Purusha (the Cosmic Soul); beyond the Purusha there is nothing. That is the end, that is the final goal.’ What if in our current following we reach that goal?”
“Can we know by following, Master?”
“Go away. Pay no attention to me. That’s the only way you will find your answers. Lead.”
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