Quarch The Great Yes

How to Unleash the Meaning of Life
1. Auflage 2021
ISBN: 978-3-98551-534-9
Verlag: Christoph Quarch
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 188 Seiten

How to fall in love with Plato, get relaxed with Socrates and find the meaning of life despite Kant. Mankind's most precious resource is neither gold or data - it is Meaning. Meaning seems to run short in our epoch. So how can we access it? Meaning is what captivates and excites us, what we experience with all our senses. But behold, we cannot make sense merely on our own. Meaning is a gift happening to us whenever we are openhearted, openminded and receptive. Then we can respond to life by saying Yes without any ifs and buts. What do we need to start making sense?

PhD. Christoph Quarch (*1964 in Düsseldorf) is a philosopher, bestselling author, keynot-speaker, thought leader, and thinker for companies. He organizes philosophy trips and teaches at various universities. He is considered the most down-to-earth philosopher in Germany and is an internationally renowned Plato specialist.He founded and initiated 'Akademie_3 - The New Platonic Academy'. www.christophquarch.de - www.akademie-3.org

Autoren/Hrsg.

Quarch, Christoph

Leseproben

The highest GOD blew a gasket on a winter morning in eternity. He had watched it long enough. It could not go on like this. His dear human children had gone completely out of control. They rushed like possessed, they calculated and acted; they ran after what they called “happiness,” yet became increasingly unhappy; they slaved away, but their souls became more and more desolate; they feared for their health, but dragged themselves tormented through life; they travelled in search of recovery, but inwardly they froze over. At least that's how GOD saw it. It seemed to him not that people had lost their minds, but that their hearts were frozen in their breasts; and that therefore they could no longer think clearly. They had lost their sense of meaning. Remedy was needed. And so he called the .

So there they sat, in long rows in a place without place, in the hope that they could explain to the highest GOD what could be done to master the crises on earth. The philosophers of all times were sitting there, their chins in their hands, thinking. Perhaps it should be pointed out that GOD, in his infinite wisdom, had only asked the thinkers of the West to the council. They, he said, were the ones who had screwed up the whole thing, and so it seemed only right and proper to him that these gravely brooding gentlemen should be the ones who now pulled the cart out of the mud. Besides, the wise men of the East preferred in any case to go in the thoughtless weightlessness of their meditations...

After thinking for a brief eternity, GOD thought the time had come to raise his voice and to ask the lofty troupe for an answer to the question of questions: “What must we give people so that they may discover the meaning of their lives?”

As soon as the last word of GOD had faded away in space, a man at the very front - one whom the others mockingly called the “primus” and whom they did not really like to suffer – raised his hand.

“Speak, Augustine,” sounded the ETERNAL.

And Augustine said: “My heart is restless, if I may speak before you, my...”

“No long confessions, Augustine,” admonished the mighty voice, “Come to the point.”

“Well then,” stammered the irritated saint, “well, if I have understood all this correctly, then we should bring the people from there to here, so that they can regale your great glory forever.”

A certain Dante, sitting in the back rows, broke out laughing at this suggestion and shouted, “What a divine comedy!” But when he saw that the HIGHEST had turned away bored, pointing the holy teacher of the Church to his place with a resigned, waving gesture, he fell silent, as did all the other clever minds.

Dark silence lay on the group. No one dared venture forward after this thoroughly messed up prelude. Only one rose. He stood upright, bold, straight - a magnificent appearance, full of decency, discipline, spiritual rigor. Everyone respected him, even if nobody loved him: Kant. Immanuel Kant. Cool and concentrated, he raised his voice: “It is my duty to answer you, dear Lord,” he said. “My answer is: let us give them a maxim by which they can likewise want it to become a general law.”

“Huh?”

All eyes turned to the throne. Had the HIGHEST and BEST really said “Huh?” He had, and he sat there scratching his wise head.

“Say it again, my friend,” his word went out, “I didn't understand you!”

“Very simple, sire,” replied the lean thinker. “Make sure that they act as if the maxim of their actions, through their will, should become the general law of nature.”

“Ah, um,” the ETERNAL shifted back and forth on his throne. “But, hmm, haven't we tried that already? I mean, the Ten Commandments, morals, moral law, Sermon on the Mount - my God, the whole program. None of it helped.”

“Yes, indeed,” jumped up a fixed little fellow whom no one really knew, but who introduced himself in an agile turn as “John Stuart Mill, advocate of utilitarianism and liberalism.” That was quite presumptuous, but the others bent to hear what the lively little man had to say. “It didn’t help because you didn’t promise them any reward. You should realize the following, my Lord,” he looked up at the throne, “all people want to be happy.”

“That’s right,” old Aristotle grumbled in the front row, which apparently gave Mill wings, so that he continued boldly: “You must make them happy if they hold to the commandments. They need a reward for their morality, not in heaven, but on earth.”

Aristotle smiled triumphantly and did not see Kant puke. A terrible seizure had apparently struck the Königsberger, to everyone’s embarrassment, and it took a little eternity for him to recover.

“With all due respect,” Kant interjected, “but it won’t work. Happiness as a reward! What a cheap trade.” He turned to Mill with inner chastisement, “You, dear sir, are a merchant soul who knows how to do arithmetic, but not how to think.”

A storm broke out as soon as Kant had spoken: “Kant is right,” called Nietzsche, Heidegger, Schelling, and a strange group of German thinkers.

“Mill is right,” Adam Smith retorted with an army of English-speaking gentlemen in tailor-made suits. A great confusion arose, and it took a thunderous “Stop!” from the heavenly throne to put an end to the looming battle in the hall.

“No, no, no,” GOD said with a severe look. “Not like that! We have already tried letting you do it, gentlemen. We have allowed your morals! We have allowed your educational models! Yes, we have even allowed your economy! Pah, ‘invisible hand,’ ridiculous!” The Eternal looked disgusted at the gentlemen in the suits (although he himself had a fancy bespoke suit hanging in the closet!). “Nothing helped. It all just got worse and worse. Even my son couldn’t do much - because you fucked everything up with your stupid philosophies!” Silence entered. “I don't want to know anything more about it! If I don't immediately hear a reasonable suggestion, then, then...” - Fear spread throughout the universe - “... then it bursts!”

“What, a new big bang?” Mr. Einstein, who had been dreaming so far, had suddenly woken up.

“Nonsense,” shouted the LORD OF THE HEARSHARDS. “Much worse: I will send a battalion of prophets!”

The philosophers cringed. Their archrivals, of all people, were to be the ones to beat them! And yet no one produced a word. Well, not no one. One stood up, plucked his mustache, scratched his mad hair, and said: “If the truth is a woman, could it be that none of the gentlemen gathered here truly understood women?” Nietzsche looked around with a fiery eye. “Could it be that the gruesome seriousness and awkward intrusiveness with which they used to approach the truth were clumsy and unseemly means to win themselves a woman?” He looked up and saw with satisfaction that the ALMIGHTY encouraged him with the right to continue. “It is certain that she did not allow herself to be taken.” Everyone looked spellbound at the odd codger with the walrus mustache. “The time has now come for the last people,” he continued. “They no longer know how to give birth to a dancing star. They probably long for the night and long for the day. They honor health and claim to have invented happiness.” Here he took a contemptuous look at Mill, Smith, and the suit wearers, “But they have become small - small like flea beetles. For,” he raised his head, and a shining aureole surrounded him, “they have no more chaos in them!”

“Well spoken,” thundered GOD. “And what is to be done?”

“Maestro,” Nietzsche said, “I may have declared you dead, but that only applied to what this miserable mob did to you. That’s why I dared to invent my own prophet: Zarathustra. Send him - the prophet of the God who knows how to dance. Send him, that he may give people what they need; that he may rekindle their sense of meaning! For one thing is necessary, Maestro: let us teach them...dance!”

A murmur went through the assembly. What an outrageous speech! And there was none who had not looked banished to the throne.

GOD looked thoughtfully for a moment, and then he raised his hands to clap. And the glory of the heavens shone around him. He clapped and clapped. The place without place trembled, the philosophers threw their caps up in the air - and Nietzsche laughed.

And it would probably have remained that way if two aged old men had not used the general turmoil to sneak unnoticed before the divine throne. There they stood - with their long, white beards and robes of antiquity. But the strangest thing of all was that they stood there holding hands.

As the gentlemen thinkers gradually became aware of the curious pair, they paused and withdrew to their places, eager to see what sensation would happen now. The divine clapping also died away. The ETERNAL leaned forward, measured the worthy ancients with an attentive look, frowned, and was heard as follows: “Socrates, Plato - what do you have to say? Didn’t you like what the young man said about chaos and...