L’Umana Fragilita (Human Frailty, oil on canvas, 1656) by Salvator Rosa. Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge.
“O glorious day when I shall retire from this crowd, this turmoil, and join that divine council and assembly of souls” — Cicero
Cicero reflects on death as a natural and not to be feared part of life. One of his most famous passages reads: “Death is not a matter of sorrow, because it releases us from the prisons of the body and brings us to our natural rest. If death is an end to consciousness, it is like a deep and eternal sleep. If, however, the soul lives on, we have nothing to fear, for we will join those who have already passed.”
Here, Cicero expresses two possibilities for death: either it brings a peaceful, eternal sleep or allows the soul to join those who have passed before, both of which alleviate the fear of death. The first possibility, that death brings the end of consciousness and a restful, eternal sleep, presents death as a final release from the burdens of mortal life. In this scenario, time ceases for the individual, as their consciousness no longer experiences its passage. The second possibility, in which the soul lives on, imagines a continued existence where the soul joins the company of others who have passed, in a realm beyond the constraints of earthly time.
Building on this latter idea, Cicero envisions the soul departing from the mortal world and entering a “divine council” of virtuous souls. He writes: “O glorious day when I shall retire from this crowd, this turmoil, and join that divine council and assembly of souls, and when I shall depart from this life to live with them!” In this vision, the soul is no longer bound by the physical limitations of the body or the linear progression of time. It enters a state of peace, free from the turmoil of earthly life, and becomes part of an eternal realm where time as we know it no longer applies. This divine assembly offers a vision of death as a transition into a timeless existence, where the soul continues without the burdens of decision-making, moral struggles, or the passage of time.
This vision aligns remarkably well with modern cosmological theories, particularly the Block Universe model, which arises from Einstein’s theory of relativity. In this model, time is viewed not as something that flows but as a static dimension. The Block Universe posits that past, present, and future all exist simultaneously within a four-dimensional spacetime continuum. Every moment—whether in the past, present, or future—exists eternally and is as real as any other moment. The flow of time, as we perceive it, is an illusion generated by our consciousness. In this framework, time does not move; rather, we, as conscious beings, experience it as though we are moving through it.
When Cicero speaks of the soul’s release from the turmoil of earthly life and its subsequent joining with other souls, he touches on a concept that can be reconciled with the Block Universe. In his vision, the soul continues to exist, but it is no longer bound by the temporal constraints of human existence. It no longer perceives time as a sequence of moments passing one after another. Instead, the soul becomes part of an eternal now—much like the fixed moments in the Block Universe model. In this state, the soul experiences the peace of being embedded in time’s eternal structure without the torment of consciousness or the burden of decision-making.
In both Cicero’s philosophical framework and the Block Universe model, time continues to exist objectively, but for the individual, time’s significance vanishes with the cessation of perception. This alignment suggests that the end of time, in a subjective sense, is not the end of the universe’s temporal structure, but the end of an individual’s experience of time. The soul, in Cicero’s understanding, remains part of the universe, but without the active engagement of temporal consciousness.
What makes this comparison particularly compelling is the shift from seeing death as a terrifying end to perceiving it as a transition into a timeless existence. For Cicero, death frees us from the burdens of morality and decision-making—tasks that are so deeply tied to our experience of time. Similarly, in the Block Universe, once consciousness fades, we are no longer participants in the dynamic flow of time but become part of the static, eternal structure of existence.
In essence, both Cicero and the Block Universe propose that the end of time is not a destruction or cessation of reality, but rather the cessation of our perception of time’s flow. While the soul may continue to exist in an ethereal state, it does so in a manner detached from the sequential experience of time. Thus, the soul’s existence in this eternal now is one of peace, free from the weight of decisions and the suffering caused by the relentless march of time.
Through this lens, we might reinterpret Cicero’s contemplation of death and the soul’s journey as a profound early philosophical insight into a truth later echoed by modern physics: the possibility of eternal existence within a timeless framework, where the flow of time is merely a byproduct of human perception. In death, the soul may continue within the Block Universe—no longer tormented by the passage of time, but instead, eternally present in the cosmic order.
Works Relied Upon While Preparing This Essay:
Cicero, Marcus Tullius. De Senectute. Translated by William Armistead Falconer. Harvard University Press, 1923.
Cicero, Marcus Tullius. Tusculan Disputations. Translated by J. E. King. Harvard University Press, 1927.
Einstein, Albert. Relativity: The Special and the General Theory. Translated by Robert W. Lawson. Crown Publishers, 1961.
Hawking, Stephen. A Brief History of Time: From the Big Bang to Black Holes. Bantam Books, 1988.
Rovelli, Carlo. The Order of Time. Riverhead Books, 2018.
The Human Condition (oil on canvas, 1933) by Rene Magritte (1898-1967). National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.
In my previous essay, I explored the notion that all possibilities, all moments, and all realities exist simultaneously within a vast, interconnected multiverse. This concept, while intellectually stimulating, takes on a profound emotional resonance when applied to personal experiences—whether contemplating career disappointments, unrequited love, or any other singular failure or life regret (the latter being the most futile and barren of life’s emotions).
For example, when faced with the pain of unrequited love, it is comforting, albeit briefly, to consider that in another universe, within one of the countless alternative realities encoded within the infinite expansion of π, that love was indeed requited. In that universe, the longing is fulfilled, the relationship blossoms, and the story takes a different, happier course. In that reality, whatever I was lacking in the eyes and heart of the other was not missing. This thought can provide solace, suggesting that somewhere, in some version of reality, the relationship blossomed, at least initially.
However, this comforting idea quickly gives way to a more troubling realization: if the multiverse contains all possible versions of me and my life, and if time itself is a dimension where past, present, and future coexist, then these possibilities are not just spread across different universes—they are all occurring simultaneously. There must be a multiplicity of universes where I am an unkind, unfortunate, or even malignant version of myself, embodying traits and actions that I would find abhorrent morally, philosophically, ethically, and physically in this reality, and they exist now, just as the kinder, better versions of myself do. In such universes, the unrequited love would be more than amply justified.
The Multiverse and the Dark Mirror
The multiverse, in its infinite possibility, is not merely a repository of our dreams fulfilled but also of our nightmares realized, all existing within the single, eternal now. For every universe where I am kinder or more fortunate, there must exist countless others where I am less so. These darker versions of myself reflect all the potential for cruelty, malice, and misfortune that I might carry within me, amplified and realized in ways that are profoundly unsettling, and they are just as real as I am in this moment.
This raises significant moral and philosophical questions. What does it mean for me, here and now, if these other versions of myself exist elsewhere, simultaneously? Am I, in some way, responsible for them? Do they diminish the value of the person I strive to be in this reality, knowing that versions of me exist that embody the very qualities I abhor?
Confronting the Other Selves
To confront these darker selves is to engage in a kind of ethical introspection. If I acknowledge that these malignant versions of myself exist in the same temporal space as I do, I must also confront the reality that the potential for such traits exists within me, even if they are not realized in this particular universe. This recognition forces a deeper reflection on the choices I make and the values I uphold. It challenges me to consider what it means to be a “good” person when the multiverse ensures that somewhere, at this very moment, I am not.
Moreover, this reflection touches on the concept of identity. How much of who I am is defined by my choices, and how much is determined by the random twists of fate that, in another universe, could have led me down a darker path? The block universe theory suggests that the line between who I am and who I could be is much thinner than we might like to believe, with all these versions of myself existing simultaneously.
The Crisis of Unfulfilled Potential
After confronting the darker versions of myself, another, perhaps equally unsettling realization emerges: the crisis of unfulfilled potential. If there are better versions of myself in the multiverse—versions that have succeeded where I have failed, who have become the person I wish to be—why am I unable to align with them here and now? Why can I not bridge the gap between who I am and who I could be?
This crisis forces me to confront the reasons why I fall short of these better versions of myself in this reality. It challenges me to understand why, despite the infinite possibilities of the multiverse, I am bound by the limitations of this particular existence. Is it a matter of circumstance, fate, or something within myself that holds me back? The knowledge that better versions of myself exist elsewhere only amplifies the sense of failure and inadequacy I might feel in this reality.
Reconciling with the Multiverse Self
Reconciling with the fact that I am not the best version of myself here and now requires a deep and difficult reflection. It demands that I acknowledge my limitations and the factors that prevent me from achieving the potential I know exists within me. This is not an easy task, as it involves confronting uncomfortable truths about my abilities, decisions, and the circumstances that shape my life.
Moreover, this crisis forces me to grapple with the idea that, despite my best efforts, I may never fully align with those better versions of myself. The multiverse, in its infinite complexity, suggests that there are always paths not taken, choices not made, and potential left unrealized. This can lead to a sense of existential despair, knowing that no matter how hard I strive, there are versions of myself who have succeeded where I have failed, who have become the person I wish to be.
The Ethical and Philosophical Implications
The existence of these darker and better selves also has ethical and philosophical implications. If I am aware of these versions of myself that exist elsewhere, does this knowledge impose a greater responsibility on me to strive for improvement? Or does it merely highlight the futility of such efforts, knowing that I am constrained by the limits of this reality? The awareness of my shortcomings, in light of the better versions of myself, can be both motivating and paralyzing, creating a tension between aspiration and resignation.
This tension reflects a deeper philosophical struggle: the conflict between the ideal and the real, between who I am and who I could be. It challenges me to reconsider what it means to live a meaningful life in a universe where infinite versions of myself exist, each navigating different paths, making different choices, and realizing different potentials.
Embracing the Complexity of the Multiverse Self
In contemplating these better and darker realities, I am reminded of the complexity of existence within the multiverse and block universe. The comforting thought that somewhere, my love is requited, the unsettling knowledge that elsewhere, I am capable of things I would rather not imagine, and the crisis of knowing that better versions of myself exist but elude me in this reality—all force a more nuanced understanding of what it means to exist in a timeless, all-encompassing reality.
This reflection brings to mind Friedrich Nietzsche’s profound directive: “What does your conscience say? — ‘You shall become the person you are.'” Yet, in confronting the multitude of selves that exist within the multiverse, I am also reminded of Jean-Paul Sartre’s existential assertion: “Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does. It is up to you to give [life] a meaning.”
Together, these insights capture the duality of my existential challenge: the imperative to become the best version of myself, as Nietzsche suggests, and the burden of freedom that Sartre describes—the responsibility to define and realize that version amidst infinite possibilities. It is not merely about recognizing these potential selves but actively striving to shape the one that truly aligns with who I am meant to be.
Ultimately, the exploration of these themes leads to a humbling realization: that within the infinite possibilities of the multiverse, all existing simultaneously in the block universe, I am not simply a passive observer but an active participant in a reality that is as much defined by what I am as by what I could be. This awareness, coupled with the existential challenges posed by both Nietzsche and Sartre, should guide my actions and choices in this universe, encouraging me to strive for the best version of myself, even knowing that other, darker, and better versions exist. In doing so, I contribute to the ongoing discourse on existence, identity, and morality—both in this reality and, perhaps, in others.
From an early age, I have been captivated by the notion that all that exists now, has ever existed, and will ever exist, exists presently. This idea, which first took shape in my mind during high school, has remained a persistent thread in my reflections on the nature of reality and time. It suggests that the entirety of existence—every moment in history, every event in the future, every possibility—coexists in a single, timeless present. This perspective naturally leads to the contemplation of a deeper truth: that nothing and everything are, in essence, one and the same.
As I continued to explore this idea, I encountered theories in both mathematics and physics that resonated with this intuition. In particular, my fascination with the mathematical constant π, with its infinite and non-repeating decimal expansion, led me to consider the vast potential contained within what seems at first glance to be a simple number. However, π is far from simple—its endless digits imply the existence of all possible sequences, and by extension, all possible information, encoded within its infinite expansion.
The Pi Notion: Infinite Possibilities Encoded in a Number
My contemplation of π and its infinite, non-repeating decimal expansion served as a key influence in shaping my thoughts on the nature of existence and possibility. Mathematically, π is an irrational and transcendental number, meaning its decimal representation goes on forever without repeating. Within this infinite sequence of digits lies a tantalizing possibility: if π is a normal number (as many mathematicians believe, though it has not been proven), then every possible finite sequence of digits will appear somewhere within its expansion.
This concept led me to speculate that within the digits of π could be encoded every conceivable piece of information—every possible sequence of numbers, every text, every image, every story. In this sense, π becomes a metaphor for the infinite potential of the universe. Just as the digits of π contain endless possibilities, so too might the fabric of reality contain every possible outcome, every possible narrative, existing simultaneously within a vast, unchanging structure. This realization brings me to the philosophical contemplation that within this infinite expanse, nothingness and everythingness are not distinct; they are, in fact, two sides of the same coin, if not indistinquishable. And as π exists now, calculated or not, proven or not, this infinite expanse exists now.
After reflecting on these thoughts, I discovered that this line of reasoning has been explored by mathematicians and philosophers alike. Notably, Gregory Chaitin, in his work “Meta Math!: The Quest for Omega,” discusses how the digits of π encode an infinite amount of information, much of which is incompressible and represents the vast potentiality inherent in mathematical infinity. His insights offer a rich foundation that parallels my own contemplations.
Introducing the Block Universe Theory
After contemplating the infinite potential embedded in π, I began to reflect on the nature of time and existence more broadly. If π can encapsulate all possibilities within its infinite expansion, might time itself also contain all moments—past, present, and future—within a single, cohesive structure? This led me to speculate that perhaps all of time is not sequential but exists simultaneously, with past, present, and future all residing within an eternal present.
Realizing that such a thought might not be unique, I turned once again to the vast resources of the internet, seeking to uncover how this idea might have been previously articulated. Through my search, I encountered the block universe theory—a concept in the philosophy of time and physics that proposes exactly this: all moments in time exist simultaneously within a four-dimensional space-time continuum.
This concept was rigorously developed by the mathematician and physicist Hermann Minkowski, whose work in the early 20th century laid the groundwork for the idea that time and space are interwoven into a single continuum. Minkowski famously stated, “Henceforth space by itself, and time by itself, are doomed to fade away into mere shadows, and only a kind of union of the two will preserve an independent reality.” This union of space and time, known as space-time, forms the foundation of the block universe theory.
In the block universe, time is not a flowing river but a dimension similar to space. Every event—past, present, and future—is fixed within this structure, existing as a permanent part of the universe. This challenges our conventional understanding of time as a linear progression and instead suggests that every moment is eternally present, much like the infinite possibilities contained within π. The block universe theory, therefore, provides a framework that aligns closely with my earlier contemplations about the nature of time and the interconnectedness of all possibilities.
Time as an Illusion and Memory as Accretion
This speculative journey naturally brought me to question the nature of time itself. If time is merely a dimension, with all moments existing simultaneously, might it not be an illusion? Our experience of time as flowing may be nothing more than a feature of our consciousness navigating through this block universe. This perspective challenges the reality of time and positions it as a subjective construct rather than an objective truth.
This questioning of time also led me to reflect on the nature of memory. Drawing from both my engagement with Jungian psychology and historical studies on collective memory, I began to see memory not as a static record of the past but as a dynamic, evolving process. Jung’s exploration of the collective unconscious suggests that memory is deeply intertwined with the symbols and archetypes that shape our understanding of the world. Similarly, historians emphasize that memory, especially at the societal level, is often a “struggle”—a contested and mutable narrative rather than a fixed truth.
Each time we recall a memory, we do so through the lens of everything that has occurred since the original event. Our memories are, therefore, subject to revision, an accretion of subsequent experiences and reflections. In this way, memory is not bound by the linear progression of time but is instead a fluid interaction with the present.
As Carl Jung once noted, “Memory is the way we keep telling ourselves our stories—and telling them to others.” This fluidity of memory mirrors the infinite possibilities encoded in π and the simultaneous existence of all moments in the block universe. Just as every possible sequence exists within π, every possible interpretation of an event exists within our consciousness, shaped by the ongoing accretion of experience. This brings to the fore the idea that the boundaries between what is and what is not, what has been and what could be, are inherently blurred; nothing and everything are interwoven in the fabric of existence.
Possibilities Within the Block: A Multiverse of Reality
Expanding on this idea, I posit that not only do all moments in time exist simultaneously, but so do all possibilities—not as mere potentials, but as realities. This notion finds a parallel in the concept of modal realism, as articulated by philosopher David Lewis in his seminal work “On the Plurality of Worlds.” Lewis argues that all possible worlds are as real as the actual world we inhabit. He writes, “I advocate a thesis of plurality of worlds, or modal realism, which holds that our world is but one of a plurality of worlds, all of which are equally real.” Every potential scenario, every possible outcome, exists in its own right, much like how every sequence of digits might be encoded within the infinite expansion of π.
When combined with the block universe theory, this leads to a vision of reality that is not just a single block, but a multiverse—a vast collection of blocks, each representing a different possible world. In this multiverse, every possible version of events, every conceivable reality, exists simultaneously. This intertwining of time and possibility suggests that our universe is not just a static collection of events, but an infinite, dynamic interplay of all that is and could ever be.
Lewis further elaborates, “The world we are part of is but one world. There are many others, of a size and complexity to rival that of our world, or perhaps exceeding it. The difference between a world and an isolated aggregate of unconnected things is just that: in a world, the things are unified; in a mere aggregate, they are not.” This perspective on the unity of worlds within the multiverse reinforces the idea that each possible world is not merely an abstract notion but a fully realized reality, interconnected with others in the vast tapestry of existence.
This concept of a multiverse where all possibilities are already realized challenges our conventional understanding of reality. If every potential outcome is actualized in some version of the universe, then the very notion of choice, causality, and individuality becomes more complex. What does it mean to make a decision if every possible decision is already realized in some version of the multiverse? Are we, in some sense, experiencing all possible lives simultaneously, or have we experienced all possible lives simultaneously already, with our consciousness merely navigating one path among many?
Furthermore, this multiverse of realities aligns with the concept of quantum mechanics, particularly the Many-Worlds Interpretation (MWI), which was initially proposed by Hugh Everett III in 1957. The internet, with its vast resources, led me to this theory, which posits that every quantum event results in a branching of the universe, creating multiple, parallel realities. In this context, the block universe theory and modal realism together suggest that these branches are not mere theoretical possibilities but actualized realities, each existing in a parallel block within the greater multiverse.
This vision of the universe as a vast, interconnected web of realities also resonates with philosophical notions of determinism and free will. If all realities exist and are equally real, then our sense of control over our destiny may be an illusion, with every possible outcome playing out (or already played out) across the multiverse. Yet, this also imbues our existence with a sense of infinite breadth, where the boundaries of what is possible are limited only by the scope of imagination and the structure of the universe itself.
In such a reality, the concepts of nothingness and everythingness converge, underscoring the idea that these distinctions are mere illusions born of our limited perception. Every moment, every reality, every conceivable existence is woven into this intricate tapestry of the multiverse, challenging our understanding of what it means to exist and what it means to choose.
Conclusion: A Journey of Exploration
As I contemplate the ideas I’ve developed, it becomes clear that my early intuitions about the nature of existence and time likely, if not certainly, echo certain themes in literature and philosophy. While thinkers like Jorge Luis Borges, Gilles Deleuze, and others have explored related concepts—such as the multiverse, the virtual, and the interconnectedness of all realities—the particular convergence of nothingness and everythingness, as I envision it, may warrant further reflection. Clearly, I have much more reading to do. Then again, if my earlier thoughts hold true, perhaps I’ve already done the reading, and these ideas have already been articulated—just in another part of the multiverse.
As I move forward, I recognize the importance of deeper literary and philosophical inquiry. The works of David Lewis, Hugh Everett, Jorge Luis Borges, Hermann Weyl, Albert Einstein, and Gilles Deleuze—each of whom has engaged with aspects of the themes I am exploring—offer valuable insights that I intend to study further. By engaging with these thinkers, I hope to refine and articulate a coherent philosophical perspective that unites these seemingly disparate threads into a unified vision of reality—one that embraces the infinite complexity of the universe and the timeless present in which it all resides.
At this stage, I find myself at the beginning of this journey, eager to explore these works and discover how my ideas might be expanded, challenged, or affirmed. Through this process, I hope to contribute a unique perspective to the ongoing discourse on existence, time, and possibility—even if that perspective has already been articulated in another part of the multiverse, or here, just waiting to be rediscovered, perhaps only by me.
Author’s Note
Before embarking on the exploration above regarding my thoughts on the eternal now and all that it entails, which some friends have heard me attempt to explain verbally before, I must acknowledge a crucial aspect of my research process: in attempting to articulate my thoughts more formally for this essay, I have relied, in a way that I rarely do, on the assistance of modern technology—specifically Google and AI—to help me identify existing scientific and philosophical theories that likely align with my ideas. My education was thorough, and my readings have been deep, but I freely confess that I would not have stumbled upon concepts such as modal realism or the block universe theory without this digital assistance. These tools have helped me shape my raw, unformed thoughts into a more coherent exploration of the nature of reality as I understand it.
— William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene II
The Thinker Auguste Rodin (French, 1840–1917) Bronze, c. 1880 Collection of the Cleveland Museum of Art
Introduction
Throughout intellectual history, certain movements emerge as responses to profound existential challenges, particularly in times of crisis when traditional sources of authority and meaning prove inadequate. Pietism, a religious movement within 17th and 18th-century Lutheranism, and Absurdism, a philosophical outlook articulated in the 20th century by figures such as Albert Camus, represent two such responses. At first glance, these movements may appear to occupy separate universes: Pietism, with its emphasis on personal spirituality and divine relationship, seems rooted in religious conviction, while Absurdism, especially as developed by Camus, confronts the inherent meaninglessness of life, proposing a defiant acceptance of the absurd. Yet, beneath these surface differences lies a shared psychological strategy for coping with the limitations of human existence. Both movements involve an internal retreat to assert autonomy and agency in the face of external authority, ultimately rejecting or reinterpreting the concept of control over what life presents.
This essay explores the deep connections between Pietism and Absurdism, arguing that both movements, despite their different contexts and expressions, engage in a similar process of internal retreat and reframing of meaning. By analyzing the historical and philosophical underpinnings of each movement, as well as their respective responses to crises of autonomy, we can uncover the unexpected parallels between them. Through this comparison, we gain a deeper understanding of how individuals and communities navigate the challenges of existence, finding ways to create meaning and assert control in a world that often seems indifferent or hostile to their aspirations.
I. The Historical Contexts of Pietism and Absurdism
To fully appreciate the parallels between Pietism and Absurdism, it is essential to consider the historical contexts from which they emerged. Pietism arose in the aftermath of the Thirty Years’ War (1618–1648), a conflict that devastated much of Central Europe, particularly the German states. This war, one of the most destructive in European history, left the region in ruins, with a shattered economy, deep social fragmentation, and widespread spiritual despair. In this context, the institutional Lutheran Church, which had been a source of spiritual and social cohesion, was increasingly perceived as distant and disconnected from the immediate needs of its congregants. Philipp Jakob Spener, often considered the father of Pietism, called for a return to a more personal and heartfelt form of Christianity. Spener’s vision emphasized personal piety, the cultivation of the inner life, and a direct, unmediated relationship with God as the means of spiritual renewal.
Similarly, Camus’ philosophy of Absurdism was shaped by the profound existential crises brought on by world wars, particularly World War II. Writing in occupied France, Camus grappled with the moral and philosophical implications of a world plunged into chaos by unprecedented violence and suffering. The horrors of the war, including the Holocaust and widespread destruction, shattered many of the moral, religious, and philosophical certainties that had underpinned Western thought. In this context, Camus developed his concept of the absurd—the recognition that life is inherently devoid of meaning, a reality that can lead to either despair or rebellion. In his seminal essay The Myth of Sisyphus (1942), Camus presents Sisyphus, the mythological figure condemned to endlessly push a boulder up a hill only to see it roll back down, as the archetype of the absurd hero. Sisyphus’ rebellion lies in his acceptance of the futility of his task and his decision to find joy in the struggle itself. This defiant embrace of the absurd becomes, for Camus, a model of how to live meaningfully in a world that offers no intrinsic meaning.
Despite the centuries that separate them, the historical contexts of Pietism and Absurdism reveal a striking similarity: both movements emerged in response to the devastation and moral ambiguity wrought by catastrophic wars. The Thirty Years’ War and World War II, though vastly different in scale and nature, each led to a profound crisis of meaning. In both cases, the established structures of meaning—whether religious, political, or philosophical—seemed inadequate to address the realities of a world torn apart by violence and chaos. In response, both Pietists and Absurdists turned inward, seeking to create or rediscover meaning within the self, rather than in the external world.
II. Internal Retreat and the Assertion of Autonomy
Central to both Pietism and Absurdism is the concept of an internal retreat as a response to the recognition of powerlessness in the face of external forces. For the Pietist, this retreat involves a rejection of the institutional structures of the church, which were perceived as corrupt or spiritually empty, in favor of a direct and personal relationship with God. This inward turn was a deliberate choice to reclaim agency in a world that was often hostile as well as spiritually barren and controlled by external secular and spiritual authorities that offered little true solace. The Pietist’s focus on personal piety, repentance, and the cultivation of the inner life was not merely a withdrawal from the world but a strategic redefinition of what it meant to live a meaningful life.
Similarly, Absurdism posits that the external world is indifferent, and often hostile, to human aspirations, and that any search for absolute meaning or purpose is ultimately futile. Faced with this reality, the Absurdist retreats inward, choosing to assert autonomy by creating personal meaning through their actions and attitudes, even in the absence of any inherent purpose. This internal retreat is exemplified in the figure of Sisyphus, whose rebellion against the absurdity of his situation is not an attempt to escape his fate but to find meaning in the struggle itself. By embracing the absurd and rejecting the false comforts of external validation or hope, the Absurdist asserts control over their own experience of life.
In both Pietism and Absurdism, the internal retreat is a means of asserting autonomy in a world where external control is impossible. The Pietist’s decision to focus on a personal relationship with God, and the Absurdist’s choice to find meaning in the act of living itself, are both expressions of a deep-seated need to reclaim agency in the face of overwhelming external assaults and constraints. This retreat into the self allows both the Pietist and the Absurdist to create a sense of purpose and meaning that is independent of the external world, even as they acknowledge the limitations of their control over that world.
III. Reframing Meaning: The Creation of Purpose
A key aspect of both Pietism and Absurdism is the reframing of meaning in response to the recognition that external sources of validation are inadequate or non-existent. For the Pietist, this reframing involves a shift away from the traditional markers of religious authority and success—such as adherence to doctrine or participation in ritual—and towards the cultivation of personal piety and a “direct relationship with God.” This reorientation of values allows the Pietist himself or herself to define what it means to live a meaningful life, focusing on the internal transformation that comes from spiritual devotion rather than on external adherence, achievements, or recognition.
In Absurdism, the reframing of meaning involves a rejection of the notion that life has any inherent purpose or value. Instead, the Absurdist creates meaning through their own actions and attitudes, embracing the struggle of existence as the only source of true fulfillment. This process of meaning-making is deeply personal and likewise self-directed, relying on the individual’s ability to find joy and purpose in the act of living itself, rather than in the pursuit of some ultimate goal. For the Absurdist, meaning is not something that can be discovered in the world, but something that must be created from within.
Both movements, therefore, involve a similar process of reframing meaning in response to the limitations of external validation. The Pietist’s focus on personal spirituality and the Absurdist’s embrace of life’s struggles both represent ways of creating meaning that are independent of external authority or recognition. In this sense, both movements can be seen as responses to the same existential crisis—the realization that the external world offers little in the way of inherent meaning or purpose—and as attempts to reclaim control over one’s own experience of life.
IV. Absurdism with a Defined Purpose? A Pietist Perspective
One of the most intriguing aspects of the comparison between Pietism and Absurdism is the question of whether Pietism can be understood as a form of Absurdism with a defined purpose. The Pietist’s commitment to a personal relationship with God, and the self-directed study of the Bible (as opposed to clerically mediated study), could be seen as an “absurd” response to the same existential reality that the Absurdist confronts—the lack of inherent meaning in the world. In this light, the Pietist’s purpose is a chosen framework within which they navigate life, much like the Absurdist who chooses to live fully and autonomously despite recognizing the absurdity of existence.
From a Pietist perspective, the Absurdist’s rejection of predefined purpose might be viewed as a form of self-delusion. The act of living, even without a declared purpose, imposes a structure, a boundary within which life is conducted. In this sense, the Absurdist’s choice to embrace life’s struggles without seeking external validation could be seen as indistinguishable from the Pietist’s choice to live according to their spiritual principles. Both are volitional acts, grounded in the need to define one’s existence in a world where external authorities offer little guidance or control.
This perspective raises the possibility that the distinction between Pietism and Absurdism may be less significant than it initially appears. Both movements involve a retreat into self-definition, where the individual creates meaning and purpose in response to a world that offers little in the way of inherent validation. Whether that purpose is found in a personal relationship with God, or in the conscious embrace of life’s struggles, both the Pietist and the Absurdist are engaged in the same fundamental process of creating meaning within the constraints of an uncontrollable external reality.
V. The Interplay of Rebellion, Resignation, and Autonomy
The interplay of rebellion, resignation, and autonomy in Pietism and Absurdism reveals a complex psychological response to the challenges of the human condition. Both movements engage in a form of rebellion against external circumstances—whether it is the chaos and harshness of the provincial German states and the related materialism and formalism of the Lutheran Church or the meaninglessness of the universe. This rebellion is not about changing the external world but about asserting control over one’s internal life and creating a sense of meaning that is independent of external validation.
At the same time, both Pietism and Absurdism involve a form of resignation—a recognition of the limitations imposed by the external world. This resignation is not a passive surrender but a deliberate choice to focus on what is within one’s control. For the Pietists, this meant turning inward and cultivating a personal relationship with God. For Sisyphus and the Absurdists, it meant embracing the struggle itself and finding contentment in the act of living. This resignation is a key part of the psychological strategy that allows individuals to navigate a world that otherwise offers little in the way of inherent meaning and satisfaction.
Resilience Through Rebellion and Resignation
The psychological resilience observed in both Pietism and Absurdism stems from their ability to reinterpret adversity and find strength in internal resources. The Pietists’ resilience was anchored in their faith and their personal relationship with God, allowing them to navigate a world that seemed increasingly hostile to their material interests and spiritual values. By focusing on spiritual transformation and personal piety, they found stability and purpose that transcended the material world’s limitations.
For Camus’ absurd hero and himself, resilience is achieved through the acceptance of life’s inherent meaninglessness and the conscious decision to live fully within those constraints. Sisyphus’ act of pushing the boulder, despite its futility, becomes a metaphor for human resilience. The hero’s strength lies not in overcoming the absurd but in embracing it and finding contentment in the act of living itself. This resilience is a form of defiance against the absurdity of existence, an assertion that life’s challenges, no matter how insurmountable they may seem, do not diminish the value of living.
Creating Meaning Within Constraints
Both Pietism and Absurdism advocate for creating meaning within the constraints of a world that offers little in the way of inherent purpose. For the Pietists, this meaning is found in their spiritual journey and their relationship with God, which provide a framework for understanding and navigating life’s challenges. The Pietist’s rejection of worldly concerns in favor of personal piety represents a deliberate choice to focus on what is within their control—their spiritual life—rather than being overwhelmed by the external world’s demands.
Similarly, the absurd hero, and those who emulate him, create meaning through the very act of living, despite the absence of any ultimate purpose. For Camus, the struggle itself becomes the source of meaning, as the individual engages with life on their own terms, rejecting the notion that life’s value must come from outside themselves. This act of meaning-making is entirely self-directed and deeply personal, reflecting a commitment to autonomy and agency in the face of a purposeless universe.
The connection between Pietism and Absurdism lies in this shared emphasis on creating meaning from within, rather than seeking it in the external world. Both movements recognize that the world is full of limitations and constraints, but they also assert that individuals have the power to define their own sense of purpose and fulfillment. This focus on internal resources—whether spiritual or existential—highlights the importance of personal autonomy and resilience in navigating life’s challenges.
VI. Conclusion
In examining the shared themes between Pietism and Absurdism, we find that both movements, though arising from different historical and philosophical contexts, reflect a fundamental human response to the limitations of existence. Both engage in an internal retreat to assert autonomy and create meaning within a world that offers little external validation or control. Whether through a personal relationship with God or the embrace of life’s inherent struggles, both the Pietist and the Absurdist find ways to live meaningfully and resiliently within the constraints of their respective circumstances.
Ultimately, Pietism and Absurdism reveal that the human quest for meaning and purpose transcends specific religious or philosophical frameworks. Both movements offer valuable insights into how individuals can navigate the challenges of existence, finding ways to assert control and create meaning within the limitations imposed by the external world. By comparing these two seemingly disparate approaches, we gain a deeper understanding of the universal human experience and the strategies we use to make sense of our place in the world.
[The draft essay above was inspired by two recent posts—one discussing Isaiah Berlin’s reflections on the origins of Pietism, and another examining the Proto-Indo-European root Skei- and its derivatives, which led me to a consideration of Absurdism. It occurred to me that these two movements, though seemingly distinct, seem to blossom from similar impulses. This initial exploration of that possibility is promising.
A more comprehensive exploration, currently exceeding twenty pages with a substantial bibliography, is in progress. Whether the project evolves further depends on whether the ideas presented here bear fragrant fruit or wither on the vine.]
In this piece, the author reflects on the interconnected nature of language and life, using the evolution of the Proto-Indo-European root “skei-” as a lens. This root gave rise to words like “science” and “shit,” which represent opposing concepts but share a common origin. The author explores how this linguistic duality mirrors broader philosophical and religious themes of light and shadow, good and evil. By drawing parallels to Jungian psychology, Christian theology, and the works of Dante and Rumi, the author highlights the interplay between knowledge and waste, creation and rejection, light and shadow as essential to the human condition.
Vitruvian Man (Pen, brown ink, and watercolor over metalpoint on paper, c. 1490) by Leonardo da Vinci (1452–1519). Gallerie dell’Accademia, Venice.
Language, much like life itself, often reveals the interplay of opposites—light and shadow, creation and destruction, knowledge and ignorance. The study of etymology, the history of words, can uncover surprising connections between concepts that seem worlds apart, offering us profound insights into the human condition. One such connection is found in the shared origin of the words science and shit. Though these words have come to represent vastly different ideas, they both trace their lineage back to the same ancient root: the Proto-Indo-European (PIE) root skei-, meaning “to cut” or “to split.” This essay explores how these seemingly disparate words, rooted in the same ancient origin, serve as powerful metaphors for the light and shadow inherent in the human condition and the perennial quest for understanding.
Proto-Indo-European Roots: The Seeds of Language
Proto-Indo-European (PIE) is not a language we have direct evidence of—it is a reconstructed ancestor, a theoretical framework derived from comparing the languages that descended from it, such as Latin, Greek, Sanskrit, and Old English. PIE roots, like skei-, are the conceptual building blocks from which countless words in these descendant languages evolved. These roots are not words in the modern sense but rather represent basic, primal ideas—actions like cutting or splitting, states of being, or essential objects.
In PIE, the root skei- originally meant “to cut” or “to split.” From this simple, physical concept, a remarkable range of words has emerged across different languages, each bearing the imprint of its original meaning while branching out into diverse semantic fields. This evolution offers us a window into how the same fundamental idea can develop in different directions, leading to words that are as disparate in meaning as science and shit.
The Evolution of Skei- in the Romance Languages
In Latin, skei- evolved into scire, meaning “to know,” which later gave rise to the word scientia and eventually science in English. This path reflects the metaphorical extension of “cutting” as a process of discernment, a way of separating truth from falsehood, knowledge from ignorance.
Beyond scientia, the influence of skei- in the Romance languages is extensive. Consider the Latin word secare, meaning “to cut,” which directly inherits the original sense of the PIE root. From secare stem a multitude of words in the Romance languages associated with cutting, division, and distinction. For example, the English word section derives from the Latin sectio, meaning “a cutting” or “division.” Similarly, segment, from Latin segmentum, refers to something that has been cut off or separated from the whole.
In French, the verb scier (to saw) also traces its lineage back to skei-, emphasizing the physical act of cutting. Meanwhile, the word ciseau (chisel), though phonetically and morphologically transformed, ultimately connects to the same root, representing a tool used to cut or shape materials. Italian retains the word secare (to cut), giving us sezione (section) and segmento (segment), maintaining the connection to division and separation.
Even more abstractly, the root skei- gave rise to words that convey the notion of separating or distinguishing in non-physical ways. The Latin discernere (to discern), combining dis- (apart) and cernere (to sift, to separate), encapsulates the mental process of distinguishing between different ideas or concepts. This term evolved into the French discerner and the Italian discernere, both of which continue to convey the act of intellectual separation and judgment.
The linguistic journey of skei- culminates in the English word science, derived from the Latin scientia. Here, science encapsulates the essence of skei-, as the pursuit of knowledge is fundamentally about separating truth from falsehood, understanding from ignorance. Science, in its most basic form, is the practice of discernment—of cutting through the noise to reveal the underlying principles that govern our world.
The Germanic Branch: From Skei- to Shit
In the Germanic languages, the PIE root skei- also left its mark, though in a different form. The sense of “cutting” or “separating” was preserved, but the focus shifted towards more physical, often bodily, processes. In Old High German, the word scīzan meant “to defecate,” directly preserving the sense of separation as it applies to bodily waste. This verb gave rise to similar terms in other Germanic languages: scheiden in Middle Dutch and skita in Old Norse, all of which convey the idea of separating waste from the body.
The Old English word scitan developed from this same root, referring to the act of defecation. Over time, scitan evolved into shit in Middle English, a term that has persisted into modern English with its meaning largely unchanged. Unlike its Latin counterpart, which evolved into abstract notions of knowledge and discernment, the Germanic branch retained a more literal, physical interpretation of skei-, focusing on the act of excretion.
This divergence is emblematic of the broader thematic dichotomy explored in this essay. The PIE root skei- gave rise to science—the disciplined pursuit of knowledge, marked by precision and intellectual rigor. Yet it also gave us shit—a word rooted in the most basic, physical processes, often associated with what is discarded or deemed unworthy.
A Metaphor for Life’s Duality
The linguistic journey of the PIE root skei- culminates in a profound metaphor for life’s duality: science, the pursuit of knowledge and enlightenment, represents the light, while shit, the rejected and discarded, embodies the shadow. This dichotomy between light and shadow is a theme that resonates deeply across various philosophical and religious traditions, each grappling with the tension between what is revered and what is reviled, what is illuminated and what remains in darkness.
Sassanid-era relief at Nassqsh-e Rostam depicting Ahura Mazda presenting the diadem of sovereignty to Ardashir I (180-242AD). Photograph by Wojciech Kocot / CC BY-SA 4.0.
In many philosophies and religions, light is associated with truth, purity, and the divine. In ancient Zoroastrianism, one of the oldest dualistic religions, the eternal battle between Ahura Mazda (the god of light) and Angra Mainyu (the spirit of darkness) symbolizes the cosmic struggle between good and evil. Here, light is knowledge, order, and goodness—concepts closely aligned with what we might associate with science, the disciplined pursuit of understanding that seeks to illuminate the mysteries of the universe. In contrast, Angra Mainyu is associated with the physical world’s corrupt and defiled aspects, bringing death, decay, and moral corruption—elements metaphorically aligned with shit, representing what is base, impure, and rejected.
However, it is important to note that while mainstream Zoroastrianism presents Ahura Mazda and Angra Mainyu as distinct and opposing forces without a common origin, a divergent tradition within Zoroastrianism, known as Zurvanism, offers a different perspective. Zurvanism posits Zurvan (Time) as the primordial deity, the ultimate source from which both Ahura Mazda and Angra Mainyu emerged. Just as the words science and shit diverge from the same linguistic root to embody opposing concepts, Zurvanism’s narrative suggests that the duality of light and darkness, good and evil, originates from a single, primordial source. This perspective mirrors the linguistic evolution we see with skei-, where a single root gives rise to words with vastly different meanings.
Just as the duality of light and darkness is central to Zoroastrian thought, Christianity presents its own understanding of these forces, offering a distinct yet parallel exploration of the tension between good and evil. Although Zurvanism was influential for a time, it was eventually deemed heretical by mainstream Zoroastrianism, which maintained a strict dualism without a common origin for good and evil. This divergence in religious thought parallels the Christian perspective on light and shadow, good and evil.
In Christianity, light is often used as a metaphor for God’s presence, truth, and divine guidance. The creation story in Genesis begins with God’s command: “Let there be light” (Genesis 1:3), bringing light into the void and establishing the foundation of the universe. However, it is essential to recognize that God is also the creator of darkness and shadow. Isaiah 45:7 affirms this: “I form the light and create darkness, I bring prosperity and create disaster; I, the Lord, do all these things.” This verse underscores that both light and shadow, good and evil, are within God’s dominion.
An illustration from “Milton’s Paradise Lost illustrated by Gustave Dore.”
God is also the creator of Satan, originally an angel named Lucifer, who rebelled against God’s authority. According to Christian tradition, as depicted in Paradise Lost by John Milton, Satan’s rebellion leads to his expulsion from Heaven and his fall into Hell. Milton vividly describes Satan’s fall, portraying him as a once-glorious being who becomes the ruler of a realm of darkness and despair, a place of punishment that is also part of God’s creation. In Paradise Lost, Hell is depicted as a kingdom of “darkness visible,” where Satan and his fallen angels are condemned to eternal torment.
This depiction of Hell is further elaborated in Dante Alighieri’s Divine Comedy, particularly in the Inferno. Dante places Satan at the very center of Hell, a realm of perpetual darkness and despair. Here, the damned suffer in various circles filled with filth and excrement, symbolizing the moral corruption that led them to their fate. Especially vivid is his articulation of the fate of flatterers, recounted in Canto XVIII:
“Here we heard people whine in the next chasm, and knock and thump themselves with open palms, and blubber through their snouts as if in a spasm.
Steaming from that pit, a vapour rose over the banks, crusting them with a slime that sickened my eyes and hammered at my nose.
That chasm sinks so deep we could not sight its bottom anywhere until we climbed along the rock arch to its greatest height.
Once there, I peered down; and I saw long lines of people in a river of excrement that seemed the overflow of the world’s latrines.
I saw among the felons of that pit one wraith who might or might not have been tonsured— one could not tell, he was so smeared with shit.”
Illustration for Inferno Canto XVIII by Gustave Doré (1832–1883), from The Divine Comedy: The Vision of Hell by Dante Alighieri, translated by H. F. Cary, M.A., 1892. Cassell and Company.
The image of Satan presiding over a kingdom of darkness and filth powerfully illustrates the connection between evil, rejection, and waste—concepts intimately tied to the notion of shit. In Dante’s vision, Hell’s filth is not merely a punishment but a reflection of the inner corruption of the soul, manifesting physically in the environment of the damned.
Darkness and shadow, therefore, are not merely the absence of light but are active forces within the world, created by God to fulfill His divine plan. Just as light reveals and guides, shadow obscures and challenges, reminding humanity of the consequences of straying from the path of righteousness.
The shadow—represented here by shit—carries connotations of what is hidden, ignored, or rejected. In Jungian psychology, the “shadow” represents the unconscious mind, the darker, hidden parts of ourselves that we “cut off,” deny or repress. Jung’s concept of the shadow is not just an abstract idea; it is a fundamental aspect of the psyche that influences behavior, decisions, and self-perception. The shadow is composed of all the aspects of our personality that we do not wish to acknowledge, the traits and impulses that are contrary to our conscious self-image. These elements are not necessarily evil, but they are often perceived as such because they conflict with the ideals and norms of society or our personal moral compass.
Jungian psychology teaches that the shadow must be confronted and integrated into our conscious awareness to achieve psychological wholeness. This process, known as individuation, involves bringing the shadow to light, recognizing it as part of ourselves, and reconciling it with our conscious identity. The failure to do so can result in projection, where we see our own shadow traits in others, or in the shadow manifesting in destructive behaviors.
In a similar vein, Samuel Beckett’s wayfarers in Waiting for Godot find themselves mired in a cyclical existence, often lying in ditches—literal and metaphorical—beset by a sense of futility and degradation. These ditches, filled with the mire of their own making, symbolize the excremental realities that we, too, must navigate. Here, the clash between our lofty aspirations and the baseness of our condition becomes starkly apparent. It is in such moments, where the struggle between light and shadow is most palpable, that the human quest for understanding reaches its existential depths.
A critical part of Carl Gustav Jung’s own journey involved confronting what might be considered the ultimate shadow: the filth and shit inherent in life itself. In a pivotal dream, which Jung described in his autobiography, he saw God defecating on a cathedral. This shocking image challenged his previously held religious beliefs and led him to a deeper understanding that both the sacred and the profane, light and shadow, are intrinsic to the truth of human experience. For Jung, recognizing and integrating these elements was essential to achieving psychological and spiritual wholeness.
The Christian concept of sin and the Jungian shadow share significant parallels. Just as sin is what separates humanity from God, the shadow is what separates the conscious self from the full realization of the psyche’s potential. In both cases, the shadow or sin must be acknowledged and transcended to achieve a higher state of being. The metaphor of shit, then, becomes a powerful symbol for the shadow—something that must be expelled or transformed if one is to attain spiritual or psychological clarity.
Just as the light of science allows us to discern truth, the exploration of the shadow—be it in Dante’s dark realms, Jung’s psychological depths, or the moral struggles depicted in Christian theology—reveals the complexity of the human condition. It challenges us to confront what we might prefer to ignore, to recognize that the pursuit of purpose or truth is not only about enlightenment but also about grappling with the darkness within.
In addition to the psychological insights provided by Jung, the teachings of the 13th-century Persian poet and mystic Jalāl Al-Dīn Muḥammad Rūmī offer a profound perspective on integrating the shadow. Rūmī, known for his deeply spiritual and allegorical tales, explores themes of love, transformation, and the human journey toward divine understanding.
In one tale from his Masnavi, the Prophet Mohammed encounters a man known as the Huge Eater, who, after a night of excessive eating, defecates in his bed. Rather than chastising him, Mohammed quietly cleans the soiled bedclothes. This act of humility and compassion profoundly moves the man, leading to his spiritual awakening.
Rūmī’s tale symbolizes the cleansing of the shadow—what Jung might metaphorically describe as the basest parts of our psyche—transforming what is impure within us into something pure. As Rūmī writes, “When the body empties and stays empty, God fills it with musk and mother of pearl. That way a man gives his dung and gets purity.” This stanza underscores the transformative process, where acknowledging and cleansing these shadow elements leads to spiritual growth. It also subtly alludes to the idea of “cutting off” or removing what is impure to make room for the divine.
Just as Muḥammad’s act of dealing with literal shit in Rūmī’s tale leads to the man’s transformation, so too does the integration of our shadow lead to deeper knowledge and understanding. This mirrors the duality discussed throughout the essay: the interplay between science and shit, light and shadow, and the continuous process of transformation that defines the human experience.
But this exploration of light and shadow, science and shit, extends beyond the mere experience of these dualities. It speaks to the human quest—the relentless search for truth that drives our existence. This quest is fraught with tension, as illustrated in the imagined dialogue I recently wrote between da Vinci and Beckett. Da Vinci, the archetypal figure of the Renaissance, represents the light of reason, the pursuit of knowledge through science and art. Beckett, on the other hand, embodies the existential struggle, the shadow of doubt, despair, and the acknowledgment of the absurdities that define human existence.
Their dialogue captures the essence of this tension: the push and pull between the desire to illuminate the world with knowledge and the recognition of the inherent limitations and darker aspects of that pursuit. It is within this tension that the human search for truth takes place, a journey that is neither straightforward nor devoid of shadow.
In their imagined conversation, continued anew here, Leonardo da Vinci, the Renaissance polymath, questions Beckett about the purpose of his work, Waiting for Godot. Da Vinci, who devoted his life to the pursuit of knowledge and the perfection of art, sees in Beckett’s work an unsettling reflection of the human condition—a world stripped of certainty, where meaning is elusive and the quest for truth is often met with silence.
Da Vinci: “Your characters wait endlessly, in vain, for something—or someone—that never arrives. Is this the conclusion of your inquiry? That we are condemned to wait, to search without hope?”
Beckett: “Leonardo, your works capture the beauty and order of the world, but what of the chaos, the emptiness? My work reflects the shadow, the nothingness that underlies our existence. The quest for meaning is not always met with light; often, it is swallowed by the void. Yet, in the waiting, in the recognition of the absurdity, there is a truth—perhaps not the truth we desire, but a truth nonetheless.”
Da Vinci: “Yet, to acknowledge the void is not to surrender to it. Even in the shadow, there is form, there is structure. My studies of anatomy, of light and shadow, reveal the underlying patterns of life. Can we not find meaning even in the darkness?”
Beckett: “Perhaps. But meaning in darkness is not the same as light. It is ambiguous, fleeting, and it demands a confrontation with the parts of ourselves we’d rather not see—the shadow, as Jung might call it. We cannot have one without the other, can we?”
Da Vinci: “No, we cannot. My work has always sought to unify—to bring together the light and the dark, the known and the unknown. Your work, in its starkness, Samuel, reminds us that this unity is not easily achieved, that the search for truth is fraught with difficulties, and that sometimes, the answers we seek lie in the very questions we ask.”
Beckett: “And so we continue, each in our own way. You with your light, me with my shadow. Both necessary, both incomplete without the other.”
This dialogue between da Vinci and Beckett reflects the core of the human experience—the pursuit of knowledge and meaning, which inevitably involves grappling with both light and shadow, science and shit. It is through this dialectic, this ongoing tension between opposites, that we inch closer to understanding the complex reality of our existence.
Yin and Yang motif featured at the center of the reverse side of the silver fifty-cent piece from Kirin Province, Empire of China, issued during the reign of the Guangxu Emperor (1875-1908). Coin image courtesy of Stephen Album Rare Coins.
The Taoist concept of Yin and Yang further encapsulates this duality, with Yin representing the shadowy, passive, and receptive aspects of the universe, and Yang symbolizing the bright, active, and creative forces. Unlike the Western dichotomies of good and evil, light and darkness, Taoism teaches that these forces are not in opposition but are interdependent and interconnected. Yin and Yang exist in a dynamic balance, each necessary to the other—just as science and shit both derive from the same linguistic root, and just as light and shadow originate from the same source. This balance reflects a more holistic understanding of duality, one where opposites are seen not as conflicting entities but as complementary forces that together create a unified whole.
Thus, from a single ancient root, we derive two words that reflect this timeless duality: science, the light guiding us toward knowledge and understanding, and shit, the shadow symbolizing what is cast aside, hidden, or ignored. This divergence serves as a powerful metaphor for the duality inherent in human experience and our ongoing quest for truth. Just as light and shadow originate from the same source, so too do our highest ideals and our basest realities emerge from the same fundamental force.
Recall that Dante’s journey in The Divine Comedy culminates in the Paradiso, where the pilgrim is ultimately united with the divine light, a symbol of ultimate truth and understanding. This final vision represents the fulfillment of the human quest for knowledge and the transcendence of earthly shadows. While Dante’s Paradiso offers an idealized conclusion—one that many might consider beyond the reach of human experience—it underscores the universal journey through light and shadow, science and shit, a path marked by both striving and imperfection.
Indeed, in exploring the relationship between science and shit, we confront the uncomfortable truth that both are essential parts of the human condition—two sides of the same coin, each reflecting different aspects of our quest to understand and navigate the world. The light of science allows us to discern, to separate truth from falsehood, illuminating the path ahead. But the shadow of shit reminds us of the inevitable waste, the parts of our existence that we might prefer to forget but which are nonetheless integral to the whole.
Tracing the evolution of skei- from PIE to modern English deepens our understanding of the intertwined nature of knowledge and waste, creation and rejection, light and shadow. This exploration reveals that these seemingly opposite concepts are, in truth, two sides of the same coin—each essential to the human condition, each a reflection of the complex interplay of light and shadow that defines our existence, and each a testament to the perpetual human quest for truth.
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Boyce, M. (2001). Zoroastrians: Their Religious Beliefs and Practices (2nd ed.). Routledge.
Dante Alighieri. (2003). The Divine Comedy. Trans. John Ciardi. New American Library.
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Fortson, B. W. (2010). Indo-European Language and Culture: An Introduction (2nd ed.). Wiley-Blackwell.
Graver, L. (2004). Beckett: Waiting for Godot (2nd ed.). Landmarks of World Literature. Cambridge University Press.
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