I got coffee to warm up my mind, with a little something extra in it to warm up my fingers. (Doesn’t matter, I got tiger blood!)
I have a very simple philosophy of life, containing only one principle. In everything I do, I attempt to maximize the quality of my life. Whether the matter is abstract or quotidian, the question is the same: Will this improve my existence?
In the abstract, it’s why I’m a Christian. I believe Jesus is the winning ticket, the grand poobah of existence, and serving him is my rational, selfish way of staying in his good graces. I believe he died for my sins, and it makes me feel good to work off some of that debt. That’s it. If I thought Satan were pulling ahead in the whole cosmic olympics thing, I might bet on that horse instead. I wouldn’t love him like the christ, because he isn’t the sort of chap who dies for sins, but I’d hitch my trolley to that engine. Almost a shame he never had a chance in hell.
In my daily life it’s why, these days, I routinely refuse promotions with small raises. The fuck would I do with extra responsibility? No pride in it, maybe I just don’t have the right genes. Money, respect, give me something or I’ll take my social capital and spend it on something useful, thank you. Why, just today I bargained with two managers (whom I game quite shamelessly for fun and profit) to get another manager on my good side- and I agreed to accept a small promotion. Bitch stresses me out and I don’t need that shit in my life. (People who know me well may reflect that displays of social mastery are a rather recent development. Strange world, innit? I’m so into that- can’t wait to meet the one who dreamed it up.)
See? Happiness; that’s what I’m after. Better living, more quality, and more of it in general too. Sure, that’s selfish. But you know what else is selfish? Selling people a line about self-abnegation, self-denial, all on some bullshit touchy-feely morality of putting others first so you can have a culture of de facto slaves working for corn syrup and hope. Feh, platitudes are all well and good until you faint and asphyxiate while you try to help every other passenger with their oxygen masks. Understand, pity is a luxury. Liberalism is a codomain for the first-worlders of Christendom, and perhaps no one else.
And what use is honesty? Everything comes back to happiness. Me, I hate cognitive dissonance and the effort of remembering more than one reality. And by some accident of nature and nurture I have this primeval craving for order. For logic, sense, knowledge, science, none of which play nicely with lies. So fuck lying to myself. Oh sure, I’ll lie about the Jews in my attic if it gives me a hit of vasopressin or impresses some girl or The Big Guy hisself, but fucked if I see any good in lying to myself.
Consistency, that’s the most beautiful thing about this principle. It’s the simplest thing to make value judgments, like they’re hardwired, and afterward it’s all a matter of computation. All ratiocination can be focused on the best realization of these a priori ideas. Maybe they conflict, often the matter of precedence is simple.
So instead of fighting my desires and dreams, I will now make them slaves to my happiness. Among my spiritual servants, only the good investments of time and energy will be recognized and rewarded, and the others starved and forsaken. I am the arbiter of my actions, the beneficiary of my reason, and the master of my fate.
I am selfish beyond redemption. I serve myself. This is the Godelian tautology that defines my ego. Comfortingly simple, innit?
But am I so blind that I can’t see the obvious truth? If my servants are so low in comparison to me, how much lower am I than Jesus, lord of Heaven and Earth? But that’s the next post. (Should I be a Christian? The subjective value isn’t in question, so it only depends on whether Christianty is true or not. So is it true? Close enough, at least. And there you go.)