Offret (1986) dir. Andrei Tarkovsky
Lacan doesn’t say that love is a disguise for sexual relationships; he says that sexual relationships don’t exist, that love is what comes to replace that non-relationship. That’s much more interesting. This idea leads him to say that in love the other tries to approach “the being of the other”. In love the individual goes beyond himself, beyond the narcissistic. In sex, you are really in a relationship with yourself via the mediation of the other. The other helps you to discover the reality of pleasure. In love, on the contrary the mediation of the other is enough in itself. Such is the nature of the amorous encounter: you go to take on the other, to make him or her exist with you, as he or she is. It is a much more profound conception of love than the entirely banal view that love is no more than an imaginary canvas painted over the reality of sex.
from Hannah Arendt’s The Nature of Totalitarianism: Essays in Understanding.
Amo: volo ut sis.” (I love you: I want you to be.)
— Martin Heidegger, quoting Augustine, in a letter to Hannah Arendt, 1925
"This mere existence, that is, all that which is mysteriously given to us by birth and which includes the shape of our bodies and the talents of our minds, can be adequately dealt with only by the unpredictable hazards of friendship and sympathy, or by the great and incalculable grace of love, which says with Augustine, ‘Volo ut sis (I want you to be),’ without being able to give any particular reason for such supreme and unsurpassable affirmation.
"The Pervert’s Guide to Ideology" (2012)
How can you enjoy diving so deep into pretentious topics like that while you know that everything is indeed meaningless? Why don't you do drugs all day and fuck around and enjoy life? It's has more to offer than dusty books.
If everything is indeed meaningless that also suggests that everything has completely equal value (or non-value) given the act of valuing is arbitrarily privileging one action, thought, concept over another. There is nothing inherently more or less valuable about anything I choose to study or read than there is “doing drugs all day,” “fucking around,” “enjoying life.” Though the idea that existence should be enjoyed is already giving a false sense of meaning to one’s life that it seems you don’t prescribe to. Yes, life is meaningless, yes everything is for naught, but regardless I happen to choose these dusty books, these concepts, over another outlet. I suppose (drugs, books, sleep, alcohol, whatever you arbitrarily choose) it’s all just a coping mechanism for the cognizance of our meaninglessness and inevitable death.
I’ve had too many questions and condescending remarks directed to my askbox that reinstates the identical premise of interrogating the value of intellectual activity within existentialism. The traditional pseudo-intellectual counterpoint of: “If we are going to die, then why bother living?” has been flipped existentially to “If we are all going to die, then why not live?”
How is futility not an ontological affect that has been continually inscribed in philosophy and poetry? Closing these ‘dusty books’ is nothing but a mere turning away in the face of the futile in order to sustain a form of life that uses the imminence of death as an excuse for the lack of life itself.