yes i still take notes on books.
here, among the next several posts, will be my scattered thoughts on the book The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera
part 1: lightness and weight
1. obviously, we each only have one life to live. each experience happens but once. but the repercussions of real, though transitory, events do exist. they inspire further proceedings, actions, thoughts, beliefs, laws, lifestyles...we can look back on and reconcile ourselves with past events, however horrible, because, in fact, they have so much weight. they evoke real emotion that we, as feeling and sympathetic beings, need to find a way to come to terms with. it is the impression that Hitler had on the man so heavily (see? weight) in his youth that causes him to recall all sorts of memories about his whole childhood. it is that that he thought back fondly on, not Hitler himself.
2. but i do believe in eternal return. it is because of this phenomenon that we have such a deep desire to do good, to choose correctly, to leave a positive mark. because if we simply ceased to be remembered, we wouldn't care so much about what we do each day and what we leave behind. it is heavy to know that our actions will be important, but it would be far worse, in my own mind, to simply be forgotten. for i know that i can do something to be proud of and want my life story to be written on the pages of time. i would fear dreadfully were i to just die and end.
4. "metaphors are dangerous. metaphors are not to be trifled with. a single metaphor can give birth to love." allowing something or someone to warrant enough importance to be spoken of metaphorically (although, ironically, metaphoric stories have no weight of their own) means they are though of on multiple levels. they are heavy and important enough to be relatable, to be eternally returnable. for isn't the principle behind the nonexistence of the eternal return that each event only holds importance in it's own individual moment and circumstance in time? if one can be applied to multiple situations, it has the potential to continue forever, repeating itself, in some way, over and over again.
6."making love with a woman and sleeping with a woman are two separate passions, not merely different but opposite. love does not make itself felt in the desire for copulation (a desire that extends to an infinite number of women) but in the desire for shared sleep (a desire limited to one woman)." i agree.
9. compassion, in english, does seem like pity. you say you have compassion for soneone as you're saying, "oh you poor thing," or, "i feel sorry for you." it is much better, as the czech say, to have a shared feeling with someone: "i'm feeling your sadness with you." but how, in english, do we translate these feelings and sentiments to one another? we must learn how to think with soucit (czech), not compassion (english): to take suffering of others upon ourselves, instead of as an innocent and pitying bystander, pretending we wished we could help. "this kind of compassion...therefore signifies the maximal capacity of affective imagination, the art of emotional telepathy." this is what we endure in love--a desire to breathe and feel and live and hurt the emotions of another soul, connected to yours by this soucit. to love someone fully is to completely understand them, thus feeling their pain and excusing their emotional actions. for if they are ours as well, how would we condemn ourselves?
12. she was not happy in her love, for it was not the sort of love that makes one happy. it was marked by jealousy, fear, obsession, and need. it was not the pure type of affectionate and renewing love; it was a downward cyclical type of codependent love. it breaks and wears the soul down at a faster rate than it builds it up. and she felt the effects of this in a sick and degeneration and tiring and nightmarish state. it was present in her dreams; not quite visible in normal daylight. only under the magnifying and scorching sun of noonday that they were both able to see the unhappiness, and ran away in search of an escape.
13. but. it was as if robespierre was beheading french nobles for eternity. in the shallow scope of his life (which is, indeed, a most important scale to consider, especially looking at an individual who values his existence), he was repeating the same circumstances, the same actions, the same story over and over again, with all the same consequences. he needed his women and the grudged him the others over and over again. weight. eternal return.
15. "for there is nothing heavier than compassion. not even one's own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels with someone, for someone, a pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echoes." this captivating soucit consumed every aspect of his whole life. it, in its quiet passive-aggressiveness, took charge of his mind and heart, and threatened to destroy his entire lifestyle. it is not something one can switch on and off at will, some conscious choice: to feel, or not to feel. it comes to us in our unconscious sleep, taking hold of our hand and refusing to let go. and it weighs a ton. soucit weighs one's soul to the ground, hurtful in all its pressure, compressing the brain and heart and lungs. it gives an eternally returnable emotion to even one who has spend a lifetime trying not to make an impression.
16. "necessity, weight, and value are three concepts inextricably bound: only necessity is heavy, and only what is heavy has value." we all have needs. ever person under the sun has desires and goals and compulsions, and they all have weight, and we all have value. need is something that cannot be erased, and our value catapults its way through eternity, making marks here and there.
we are not flickers of being, burning for our one quick moment and then disappearing. we have needs, wants, emotions, soucit, and love, and for this, we make an impression on the fabric of eternity.
here, among the next several posts, will be my scattered thoughts on the book The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera
part 1: lightness and weight
1. obviously, we each only have one life to live. each experience happens but once. but the repercussions of real, though transitory, events do exist. they inspire further proceedings, actions, thoughts, beliefs, laws, lifestyles...we can look back on and reconcile ourselves with past events, however horrible, because, in fact, they have so much weight. they evoke real emotion that we, as feeling and sympathetic beings, need to find a way to come to terms with. it is the impression that Hitler had on the man so heavily (see? weight) in his youth that causes him to recall all sorts of memories about his whole childhood. it is that that he thought back fondly on, not Hitler himself.
2. but i do believe in eternal return. it is because of this phenomenon that we have such a deep desire to do good, to choose correctly, to leave a positive mark. because if we simply ceased to be remembered, we wouldn't care so much about what we do each day and what we leave behind. it is heavy to know that our actions will be important, but it would be far worse, in my own mind, to simply be forgotten. for i know that i can do something to be proud of and want my life story to be written on the pages of time. i would fear dreadfully were i to just die and end.
4. "metaphors are dangerous. metaphors are not to be trifled with. a single metaphor can give birth to love." allowing something or someone to warrant enough importance to be spoken of metaphorically (although, ironically, metaphoric stories have no weight of their own) means they are though of on multiple levels. they are heavy and important enough to be relatable, to be eternally returnable. for isn't the principle behind the nonexistence of the eternal return that each event only holds importance in it's own individual moment and circumstance in time? if one can be applied to multiple situations, it has the potential to continue forever, repeating itself, in some way, over and over again.
6."making love with a woman and sleeping with a woman are two separate passions, not merely different but opposite. love does not make itself felt in the desire for copulation (a desire that extends to an infinite number of women) but in the desire for shared sleep (a desire limited to one woman)." i agree.
9. compassion, in english, does seem like pity. you say you have compassion for soneone as you're saying, "oh you poor thing," or, "i feel sorry for you." it is much better, as the czech say, to have a shared feeling with someone: "i'm feeling your sadness with you." but how, in english, do we translate these feelings and sentiments to one another? we must learn how to think with soucit (czech), not compassion (english): to take suffering of others upon ourselves, instead of as an innocent and pitying bystander, pretending we wished we could help. "this kind of compassion...therefore signifies the maximal capacity of affective imagination, the art of emotional telepathy." this is what we endure in love--a desire to breathe and feel and live and hurt the emotions of another soul, connected to yours by this soucit. to love someone fully is to completely understand them, thus feeling their pain and excusing their emotional actions. for if they are ours as well, how would we condemn ourselves?
12. she was not happy in her love, for it was not the sort of love that makes one happy. it was marked by jealousy, fear, obsession, and need. it was not the pure type of affectionate and renewing love; it was a downward cyclical type of codependent love. it breaks and wears the soul down at a faster rate than it builds it up. and she felt the effects of this in a sick and degeneration and tiring and nightmarish state. it was present in her dreams; not quite visible in normal daylight. only under the magnifying and scorching sun of noonday that they were both able to see the unhappiness, and ran away in search of an escape.
13. but. it was as if robespierre was beheading french nobles for eternity. in the shallow scope of his life (which is, indeed, a most important scale to consider, especially looking at an individual who values his existence), he was repeating the same circumstances, the same actions, the same story over and over again, with all the same consequences. he needed his women and the grudged him the others over and over again. weight. eternal return.
15. "for there is nothing heavier than compassion. not even one's own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels with someone, for someone, a pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echoes." this captivating soucit consumed every aspect of his whole life. it, in its quiet passive-aggressiveness, took charge of his mind and heart, and threatened to destroy his entire lifestyle. it is not something one can switch on and off at will, some conscious choice: to feel, or not to feel. it comes to us in our unconscious sleep, taking hold of our hand and refusing to let go. and it weighs a ton. soucit weighs one's soul to the ground, hurtful in all its pressure, compressing the brain and heart and lungs. it gives an eternally returnable emotion to even one who has spend a lifetime trying not to make an impression.
16. "necessity, weight, and value are three concepts inextricably bound: only necessity is heavy, and only what is heavy has value." we all have needs. ever person under the sun has desires and goals and compulsions, and they all have weight, and we all have value. need is something that cannot be erased, and our value catapults its way through eternity, making marks here and there.
we are not flickers of being, burning for our one quick moment and then disappearing. we have needs, wants, emotions, soucit, and love, and for this, we make an impression on the fabric of eternity.
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