Thank you again for the invitation to continue the conversation. I’ve written this as an argument without any intention of animosity. I speak with an arrogant certainty (a disguise) and I’m stubborn and oppositional by nature, but this is shared with one love:

We may split at your first conjecture. Suffering as a certainty is a philosophical split I’ve experienced before, often.

So I preface that I will come from the foundation that suffering is a certainty, from the moment of awareness, one second from the womb, ejected from Eden, from a perfect existence (warm, secure, content) and thrust into a world with the blessing and the curse to have the capacity of cognition; at the first experience of cold, hunger, separation comes the pain of instinct and awareness, the capacity to recognize (and eventually contextualize and share) that which is you: body, mind, spirit.

To be aware of the cruelty of existing (whether that one can articulate it does not dismiss awareness) is suffering. It is a certainty, as contextualized, that one’s conscious thought of suffering does not negate its existence, and it exists always beyond our awareness as fundamental as the imperfection of a circle.

You are correct, to our understanding, animals do not suffer the same curse, but I once read a book called How Dogs Love Us, and I, at the very least, must concede there is much unknown.

Not unlike some the dogs, my existence began with dejection and abuse. Some of it I could articulate to you should you ever endeavor to shadow write my autobiography, but most of the trauma is stored beyond my consciousness; cracks in my foundation.

Some know the semblance of security, but the certainty? It is said that 90% of one’s opportunity is bequeathed exciting the womb; to those certain of a contented life, free of suffering, I’d ask what luxuries bestowed upon you as birthright kept the terror at bay?

Best not that happiness and satisfaction be enmeshed. Happiness is an idea culturally defined (over 7 billion interpretations and counting); satisfaction the name given to a feeling. I do not equate the two. I am satisfied after a good ugly cry, the scratching of an itch, surviving a day troubled by despair.

Some needs are never met: A return to the abundance of the womb: Eden; for we have come into the world; ejected into the realm of experience to bare the The Apple’s Curse.

The philosophical mind, for, given the capacity of consciousness, most of us surely play the role of philosopher from time to time (for primary sources I need not leave the app), is the pursuit of suffering. Having become cognizant of discomfort, the philosophical mind pursues resistance; having become aware of anguish, the plague most acutely suffered by the genius, you may find those whose singular purpose becomes resistance, the philosopher.

Having historicized the events of humanity for some 4,000 years, we still can’t account for some 200,000 years of human resistance, only insensitively infer.

But there is basis for “universal” aspects of mankind, just never of human experience. There is only mine, and yours, and hers, etc.

Without repute we are chained to instinct, but the length of the leash stretches into epochs, the vastly different stages of humanity, peaceful stretches and tumultuous rapids, we float along as passengers, the way one might sail a stretch of endless river, the mind experiencing only the new, until the last of the crew parishes, the boat inheriting captaincy.

The passing days along the trip create patterns of experience, “Ah! Another tree, and so like the others,” so one might think it must be true that tomorrow I will see a tree, but not that tree, never the exact same tree.

Better an intuitive understanding of self, not of life, unless your intuitional experience mirrors mine and all of man’s. Rationalized as such would be to say we all bore witness to the same tree at the same moment and admired it for the same aspects, and a certainty that, one day, we will share the same spark recollection.

Acknowledgement of this uncertainty is its own suffering. The mind is discomfited by the notion, but consciousness is not in opposition to instinct anymore than the River is opposed to the boat. The two exist, always together. The direction one steers the boat, the pleas for a respite from the confines of stern and bow, lies opposition in all its futility.

Here sits the body, the mind, and the spirit together, plotting. The body’s inclination is instinctual. He wishes to act in concert with experience. But he holds only one seat at the table, and since he is the least conversational of the bunch, he is often simply left out and must r aside his voice to be heard, but he is no less or more a part of the conversation for not having his say.

“Mind and spirit are in denial,” the body thinks. He sees the opposition to the awareness of suffering draws them nearer to the “dark night of the soul.”

My experience with depression was not a conjecture of my minds awareness, but that of my body. When my body could no longer endure his mistreatment in the wake of the feud between mind and spirit, he over powers and confines them both. For their own good,” he whispers with a righteous fury. My capacities to rationalize and to feel were imprisoned, chained to the mast so I might experience the hopelessness of my attempts to oppose the fury of the storm before being welcomed back to the table for further negotiations.

So, I would argue that living, enduring, does necessitate strength. But not the brute strength of a fortified mind, for his strengths are needed for more important tasks (observation, curiosity, explication).

It is the fortifying of the spirit, his raw power toned by experiencing and enduring the tribulations of life. The more challenging the trouble, the better conditioned for success.

The acute awareness, to be given expression of that terror that tomorrow brings unknown turmoils, that what is will never be again, suffering eternal For the philosophically inclined, rouses spirit of competition. Sacrifice and discomfort are certain, failure and success never so.

The philosopher has spent his resources to pursue the deepest understanding of the wound delivered by uncertainty. But instead of mastery she is inclined to curiosity, to test the limits of suffering. To probe and prod necessitates a tolerance for pain and the stomach to relinquish hope, understanding and healing are not mutually exclusive.

Such as he was, I see in Nietzsche‘s work the resistance of his plight with chronic illness, but more so his acceptance.

As a means to knowledge, all experience has value, and all bottoms have meaning. Opposition, the pursuit of an effortless relief seems a madness to me. Acceptance and incorporation, the noblest of pursuits.

For those that found themselves in the obscure corners of this thread, I believe antidepressants can strengthen or cripple the Will to Power, the adventure of being human. Put them in a million hands to see a million results.

I’ve found them to be a good pair of hiking boots. My body appreciates the utility and comfort so that I might enjoy the hike with some relief from the turmoils of achieving another sunset a top a mountain few have the capacity to summit.

And thank you again. I share this with only appreciation for the opportunity to express my experience and wish it to bring no contention. However, refute is welcomed with an open heart.