Just finished Brave New World. Huxley doesn't fuck around at all. If ever there was a book about what fundamentally makes us human this is it, in its own way.

The more I think about it, the more I feel like an idiot.

I used to think think you do the things you day to day because there is an end that will, one day, fit the means. The more I consider it, though, the less I believe that. It begins to seem that the means are, in themselves, the one and only end in sight. Perhaps we are happiest in the struggle for that next step.

To me, that's what it seemed like Huxley was saying. You take away all of the highs, lows, and struggles and replace them with a monotony of happiness, comfort, and satisfaction and you have the Brave New World. How sterile a world without the dizzying peaks and abmysmal pits and everything between. It's strange to think in these terms...

Ironically, even now, I take some satisfaction in struggling and failing to express my thoughts and feelings here.

Man is at his finest in the chaos of flux, I guess.

I'll stop before I say anything cheesier.

...

I forgot this: Something I hear Unitarians (and others) say a lot is "It's not about finding the answer... it's about the search." God. How true.