Tijd om me eens even heel erg op te winden in deze draad, en wel over Aragorn123. Deze schijnt te denken dat materialisme gelijk staat aan blind zijn voor de problemen van de wereld, achter de massa aanlopen, etcetera. Wat de filosofische positie dat er maar een soort substantie (materie) is te maken heeft met de GTST-geest is mij echter volledig onduidelijk. De mensen die in deze topic worden aangeduid als 'dom', 'onnadenken' of 'blind' hebben heus nooit over dit soort filosofische vragen nagedacht. Daarbij geloven velen van hen wel in geesten of zielen, en zijn dus geen materialisten. Ik zie geen enkele connectie tussen de tegenstelling materialisme/dualisme en de tegenstelling nadenkend/onnadenkend.
Ikzelf ben een materialist. Wetenschap en filosofie hebben naar mijn mening tot nu toe geen enkele reden gegeven om in het bestaan van spirituele zaken te geloven. Het enige jammere is dat ik nu volgens jou een kuddedier ben die alleen nadenkt over voetbal en bier zuipen. Misschien een beetje kort door de bocht? Laat me je vertellen dat zo goed als al mijn vrienden materialist is, en dat geen enkele van hen het gaat hebben over voetbal of bierzuipen. Ikzelf ben, nogmaals, materialist, maar dat heeft geen enkele invloed op het feit dat ik me veel bezig houdt met bijvoorbeeld filosofie. Ik voelde mij heel erg thuis in deze topic (er is al eens iets dergelijks geweest waar ik en Aximaxi de redenen gingen opstellen waarom de meeste mensen niet goed handelden), maar nu wordt ik plotseling door iemand die mij niet eens kent in het hokje van de onnozelen gestopt.
Denk je nu serieus dat spiritualiteit het enige alternatief voor kuddegeest is? Wat denk je van iemand die zijn leven besteed aan het zoeken naar waarheid? (Lees: wetenschapper, want het aantal testbare hypothesen dat spiritualisme tot nu toe heeft opgeleverd is zeer gering.) En die door zijn zucht naar waarheid gedwongen wordt niet de troostrijke maar onware kant van de religie op te gaan? Is die dom en kortzichtig? Of zou het zo kunnen zijn dat ook mensen die niet New Age boeken lezen interesse hebben in de wereld?
Er zijn dus 2 grote en tegenstijdige stromen aan de gang in de maatschappij.
De 1 van de techniek en het materialisme.
En de ander van de spiritualitiet en het gevoel.
Ik ben hier echt heel boos aan het worden.
Materialisme en techniek zijn uitvloeisels van de wetenschap en de filosofie, en die komen beide voort uit een enkel ideaal: waarheid. Hoe
durf je ze gelijk te stellen aan de domheid van de wereld! Waar haal je de laffe arrogantie vandaan om je eigen dualistische wereldvisie gelijk te stellen aan emotionele verhevenheid?!
* telt even tot tien om af te koelen *
Wat ik dus wil zeggen is dat jij een verkeerde scheiding aanbrengt tussen de mensen. Materialisme/dualisme heeft
niets te maken met emoties. Het heeft
niets te maken met waar deze topic over gaat. Heel veel spiritualisten zijn 'domme' mensen die een keer de Celestijnse Belofte gelezen hebben omdat die zo in was; mensen die in god geloven omdat ze ge-indoctrineerd zijn; mensen die zich vastklampen aan de ziel 'to escape the fact of death, which is the only fact we have'. Heel veel materialisten zijn intelligente en gevoelige personen die zich bezig houden met de staat van de wereld. Sorry dat ik me opwind, maar jouw post is als een klap in mijn gezicht. Misschien moet je eens Richard Dawkins' mooie boek "Unweaving the Rainbow: Science, Delusion and the Appetite for Wonder" lezen. Van de achterflap:
The poet John Keat accused Isaac Newton of destroying the poetry of the rainbow by explaining the origin of its colour, thus dispelling its mystery. In this illuminating and provocative book, Richard Dawkins argues that Keats could not have been more wrong and shows how an understanding of science inspires the human imagination and enhances the wonder of the world.
Of een quote uit de inleiding:
To accuse science of robbing life of the warmth that makes it worth living is so preposterously mistaken, so diametrically opposed to my own feelings and those of most working scientists, I am almost driven to the despair of which I am wrongly suspected. [...] The feeling of awed wonder that science can give us is one of the highest experiences of which the human psyche is capable. It is a deep aesthetic passion to rank with the finest that music and poetry can deliver.
Ik hoop dat dit je in ieder geval aan het denken zet, want je kijkt echt helemaal verkeerd naar de mensheid.
Zo word ik door veel mensen voor gek verklaard omdat [...]
Het is natuurlijk achterlijk om jou daarvoor voor gek te verklaren... maar nu de gewetensvraag: wat denk jij van mensen die
niet doen wat jij doet?
Nu weer even terug naar de topic. Ja, de meeste mensen zijn 'dom'. Conclusie: de democratie is een onzinnig staatsbestel. Ik wil wel nog een keer gaan vertellen dat de sophocratie de enige logische staatsvorm is, maar dat heb ik waarschijnlijk al te vaak gedaan.
Naar mijn mening de mooiste beschrijving van de twee wegen die de mensheid op kan gaan staat in de proloog van Nietzsche's "Also sprach Zarathustra". Laat mij ze even posten, hoewel ze wel lang zijn.
3.
When Zarathustra arrived at the nearest town which adjoineth the forest, he
found many people assembled in the market-place; for it had been announced
that a rope-dancer would give a performance. And Zarathustra spake thus
unto the people:
I TEACH YOU THE SUPERMAN. Man is something that is to be surpassed. What
have ye done to surpass man?
All beings hitherto have created something beyond themselves: and ye want
to be the ebb of that great tide, and would rather go back to the beast
than surpass man?
What is the ape to man? A laughing-stock, a thing of shame. And just the
same shall man be to the Superman: a laughing-stock, a thing of shame.
Ye have made your way from the worm to man, and much within you is still
worm. Once were ye apes, and even yet man is more of an ape than any of
the apes.
Even the wisest among you is only a disharmony and hybrid of plant and
phantom. But do I bid you become phantoms or plants?
Lo, I teach you the Superman!
The Superman is the meaning of the earth. Let your will say: The Superman
SHALL BE the meaning of the earth!
I conjure you, my brethren, REMAIN TRUE TO THE EARTH, and believe not those
who speak unto you of superearthly hopes! Poisoners are they, whether they
know it or not.
Despisers of life are they, decaying ones and poisoned ones themselves, of
whom the earth is weary: so away with them!
Once blasphemy against God was the greatest blasphemy; but God died, and
therewith also those blasphemers. To blaspheme the earth is now the
dreadfulest sin, and to rate the heart of the unknowable higher than the
meaning of the earth!
Once the soul looked contemptuously on the body, and then that contempt was
the supreme thing:--the soul wished the body meagre, ghastly, and famished.
Thus it thought to escape from the body and the earth.
Oh, that soul was itself meagre, ghastly, and famished; and cruelty was the
delight of that soul!
But ye, also, my brethren, tell me: What doth your body say about your
soul? Is your soul not poverty and pollution and wretched self-
complacency?
Verily, a polluted stream is man. One must be a sea, to receive a polluted
stream without becoming impure.
Lo, I teach you the Superman: he is that sea; in him can your great
contempt be submerged.
What is the greatest thing ye can experience? It is the hour of great
contempt. The hour in which even your happiness becometh loathsome unto
you, and so also your reason and virtue.
The hour when ye say: "What good is my happiness! It is poverty and
pollution and wretched self-complacency. But my happiness should justify
existence itself!"
The hour when ye say: "What good is my reason! Doth it long for knowledge
as the lion for his food? It is poverty and pollution and wretched self-
complacency!"
The hour when ye say: "What good is my virtue! As yet it hath not made me
passionate. How weary I am of my good and my bad! It is all poverty and
pollution and wretched self-complacency!"
The hour when ye say: "What good is my justice! I do not see that I am
fervour and fuel. The just, however, are fervour and fuel!"
The hour when we say: "What good is my pity! Is not pity the cross on
which he is nailed who loveth man? But my pity is not a crucifixion."
Have ye ever spoken thus? Have ye ever cried thus? Ah! would that I had
heard you crying thus!
It is not your sin--it is your self-satisfaction that crieth unto heaven;
your very sparingness in sin crieth unto heaven!
Where is the lightning to lick you with its tongue? Where is the frenzy
with which ye should be inoculated?
Lo, I teach you the Superman: he is that lightning, he is that frenzy!--
When Zarathustra had thus spoken, one of the people called out: "We have
now heard enough of the rope-dancer; it is time now for us to see him!"
And all the people laughed at Zarathustra. But the rope-dancer, who
thought the words applied to him, began his performance.
4.
Zarathustra, however, looked at the people and wondered. Then he spake
thus:
Man is a rope stretched between the animal and the Superman--a rope over an
abyss.
A dangerous crossing, a dangerous wayfaring, a dangerous looking-back, a
dangerous trembling and halting.
What is great in man is that he is a bridge and not a goal: what is
lovable in man is that he is an OVER-GOING and a DOWN-GOING.
I love those that know not how to live except as down-goers, for they are
the over-goers.
I love the great despisers, because they are the great adorers, and arrows
of longing for the other shore.
I love those who do not first seek a reason beyond the stars for going down
and being sacrifices, but sacrifice themselves to the earth, that the earth
of the Superman may hereafter arrive.
I love him who liveth in order to know, and seeketh to know in order that
the Superman may hereafter live. Thus seeketh he his own down-going.
I love him who laboureth and inventeth, that he may build the house for the
Superman, and prepare for him earth, animal, and plant: for thus seeketh
he his own down-going.
I love him who loveth his virtue: for virtue is the will to down-going,
and an arrow of longing.
I love him who reserveth no share of spirit for himself, but wanteth to be
wholly the spirit of his virtue: thus walketh he as spirit over the
bridge.
I love him who maketh his virtue his inclination and destiny: thus, for
the sake of his virtue, he is willing to live on, or live no more.
I love him who desireth not too many virtues. One virtue is more of a
virtue than two, because it is more of a knot for one's destiny to cling
to.
I love him whose soul is lavish, who wanteth no thanks and doth not give
back: for he always bestoweth, and desireth not to keep for himself.
I love him who is ashamed when the dice fall in his favour, and who then
asketh: "Am I a dishonest player?"--for he is willing to succumb.
I love him who scattereth golden words in advance of his deeds, and always
doeth more than he promiseth: for he seeketh his own down-going.
I love him who justifieth the future ones, and redeemeth the past ones:
for he is willing to succumb through the present ones.
I love him who chasteneth his God, because he loveth his God: for he must
succumb through the wrath of his God.
I love him whose soul is deep even in the wounding, and may succumb through
a small matter: thus goeth he willingly over the bridge.
I love him whose soul is so overfull that he forgetteth himself, and all
things are in him: thus all things become his down-going.
I love him who is of a free spirit and a free heart: thus is his head only
the bowels of his heart; his heart, however, causeth his down-going.
I love all who are like heavy drops falling one by one out of the dark
cloud that lowereth over man: they herald the coming of the lightning, and
succumb as heralds.
Lo, I am a herald of the lightning, and a heavy drop out of the cloud: the
lightning, however, is the SUPERMAN.--
5.
When Zarathustra had spoken these words, he again looked at the people, and
was silent. "There they stand," said he to his heart; "there they laugh:
they understand me not; I am not the mouth for these ears.
Must one first batter their ears, that they may learn to hear with their
eyes? Must one clatter like kettledrums and penitential preachers? Or do
they only believe the stammerer?
They have something whereof they are proud. What do they call it, that
which maketh them proud? Culture, they call it; it distinguisheth them
from the goatherds.
They dislike, therefore, to hear of 'contempt' of themselves. So I will
appeal to their pride.
I will speak unto them of the most contemptible thing: that, however, is
THE LAST MAN!"
And thus spake Zarathustra unto the people:
It is time for man to fix his goal. It is time for man to plant the germ
of his highest hope.
Still is his soil rich enough for it. But that soil will one day be poor
and exhausted, and no lofty tree will any longer be able to grow thereon.
Alas! there cometh the time when man will no longer launch the arrow of his
longing beyond man--and the string of his bow will have unlearned to whizz!
I tell you: one must still have chaos in one, to give birth to a dancing
star. I tell you: ye have still chaos in you.
Alas! There cometh the time when man will no longer give birth to any
star. Alas! There cometh the time of the most despicable man, who can no
longer despise himself.
Lo! I show you THE LAST MAN.
"What is love? What is creation? What is longing? What is a star?"--so
asketh the last man and blinketh.
The earth hath then become small, and on it there hoppeth the last man who
maketh everything small. His species is ineradicable like that of the
ground-flea; the last man liveth longest.
"We have discovered happiness"--say the last men, and blink thereby.
They have left the regions where it is hard to live; for they need warmth.
One still loveth one's neighbour and rubbeth against him; for one needeth
warmth.
Turning ill and being distrustful, they consider sinful: they walk warily.
He is a fool who still stumbleth over stones or men!
A little poison now and then: that maketh pleasant dreams. And much
poison at last for a pleasant death.
One still worketh, for work is a pastime. But one is careful lest the
pastime should hurt one.
One no longer becometh poor or rich; both are too burdensome. Who still
wanteth to rule? Who still wanteth to obey? Both are too burdensome.
No shepherd, and one herd! Every one wanteth the same; every one is equal:
he who hath other sentiments goeth voluntarily into the madhouse.
"Formerly all the world was insane,"--say the subtlest of them, and blink
thereby.
They are clever and know all that hath happened: so there is no end to
their raillery. People still fall out, but are soon reconciled--otherwise
it spoileth their stomachs.
They have their little pleasures for the day, and their little pleasures
for the night, but they have a regard for health.
"We have discovered happiness,"--say the last men, and blink thereby.--
And here ended the first discourse of Zarathustra, which is also called
"The Prologue": for at this point the shouting and mirth of the multitude
interrupted him. "Give us this last man, O Zarathustra,"--they called out-
-"make us into these last men! Then will we make thee a present of the
Superman!" And all the people exulted and smacked their lips.
Zarathustra, however, turned sad, and said to his heart:
"They understand me not: I am not the mouth for these ears.
Too long, perhaps, have I lived in the mountains; too much have I hearkened
unto the brooks and trees: now do I speak unto them as unto the goatherds.
Calm is my soul, and clear, like the mountains in the morning. But they
think me cold, and a mocker with terrible jests.
And now do they look at me and laugh: and while they laugh they hate me
too. There is ice in their laughter."
En uit hetzelfde boek nog een stuk over materialisme vs. spiritualisme.
III. BACKWORLDSMEN.
Once on a time, Zarathustra also cast his fancy beyond man, like all
backworldsmen. The work of a suffering and tortured God, did the world
then seem to me.
The dream--and diction--of a God, did the world then seem to me; coloured
vapours before the eyes of a divinely dissatisfied one.
Good and evil, and joy and woe, and I and thou--coloured vapours did they
seem to me before creative eyes. The creator wished to look away from
himself,--thereupon he created the world.
Intoxicating joy is it for the sufferer to look away from his suffering and
forget himself. Intoxicating joy and self-forgetting, did the world once
seem to me.
This world, the eternally imperfect, an eternal contradiction's image and
imperfect image--an intoxicating joy to its imperfect creator:--thus did
the world once seem to me.
Thus, once on a time, did I also cast my fancy beyond man, like all
backworldsmen. Beyond man, forsooth?
Ah, ye brethren, that God whom I created was human work and human madness,
like all the Gods!
A man was he, and only a poor fragment of a man and ego. Out of mine own
ashes and glow it came unto me, that phantom. And verily, it came not unto
me from the beyond!
What happened, my brethren? I surpassed myself, the suffering one; I
carried mine own ashes to the mountain; a brighter flame I contrived for
myself. And lo! Thereupon the phantom WITHDREW from me!
To me the convalescent would it now be suffering and torment to believe in
such phantoms: suffering would it now be to me, and humiliation. Thus
speak I to backworldsmen.
Suffering was it, and impotence--that created all backworlds; and the short
madness of happiness, which only the greatest sufferer experienceth.
Weariness, which seeketh to get to the ultimate with one leap, with a
death-leap; a poor ignorant weariness, unwilling even to will any longer:
that created all Gods and backworlds.
Believe me, my brethren! It was the body which despaired of the body--it
groped with the fingers of the infatuated spirit at the ultimate walls.
Believe me, my brethren! It was the body which despaired of the earth--it
heard the bowels of existence speaking unto it.
And then it sought to get through the ultimate walls with its head--and not
with its head only--into "the other world."
But that "other world" is well concealed from man, that dehumanised,
inhuman world, which is a celestial naught; and the bowels of existence do
not speak unto man, except as man.
Verily, it is difficult to prove all being, and hard to make it speak.
Tell me, ye brethren, is not the strangest of all things best proved?
Yea, this ego, with its contradiction and perplexity, speaketh most
uprightly of its being--this creating, willing, evaluing ego, which is the
measure and value of things.
And this most upright existence, the ego--it speaketh of the body, and
still implieth the body, even when it museth and raveth and fluttereth with
broken wings.
Always more uprightly learneth it to speak, the ego; and the more it
learneth, the more doth it find titles and honours for the body and the
earth.
A new pride taught me mine ego, and that teach I unto men: no longer to
thrust one's head into the sand of celestial things, but to carry it
freely, a terrestrial head, which giveth meaning to the earth!
A new will teach I unto men: to choose that path which man hath followed
blindly, and to approve of it--and no longer to slink aside from it, like
the sick and perishing!
The sick and perishing--it was they who despised the body and the earth,
and invented the heavenly world, and the redeeming blood-drops; but even
those sweet and sad poisons they borrowed from the body and the earth!
From their misery they sought escape, and the stars were too remote for
them. Then they sighed: "O that there were heavenly paths by which to
steal into another existence and into happiness!" Then they contrived for
themselves their by-paths and bloody draughts!
Beyond the sphere of their body and this earth they now fancied themselves
transported, these ungrateful ones. But to what did they owe the
convulsion and rapture of their transport? To their body and this earth.
Gentle is Zarathustra to the sickly. Verily, he is not indignant at their
modes of consolation and ingratitude. May they become convalescents and
overcomers, and create higher bodies for themselves!
Neither is Zarathustra indignant at a convalescent who looketh tenderly on
his delusions, and at midnight stealeth round the grave of his God; but
sickness and a sick frame remain even in his tears.
Many sickly ones have there always been among those who muse, and languish
for God; violently they hate the discerning ones, and the latest of
virtues, which is uprightness.
Backward they always gaze toward dark ages: then, indeed, were delusion
and faith something different. Raving of the reason was likeness to God,
and doubt was sin.
Too well do I know those godlike ones: they insist on being believed in,
and that doubt is sin. Too well, also, do I know what they themselves most
believe in.
Verily, not in backworlds and redeeming blood-drops: but in the body do
they also believe most; and their own body is for them the thing-in-itself.
But it is a sickly thing to them, and gladly would they get out of their
skin. Therefore hearken they to the preachers of death, and themselves
preach backworlds.
Hearken rather, my brethren, to the voice of the healthy body; it is a more
upright and pure voice.
More uprightly and purely speaketh the healthy body, perfect and square-
built; and it speaketh of the meaning of the earth.--
Thus spake Zarathustra.
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... 
.... (je bent niet de enige die zo denkt)
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werkelijkheid; hoe rot die dan ook is en hoe vervreemdend die dan ook werkt... 
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)
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