The Anger Of The Humanities

I am so angry.

Far angrier than I let on. Far angrier than I want to be.

I think that the humanities possess an anger. An anger that we don't think about or don't talk about.

The humanities are about changing things.

The humanities ask 'why am I doing this?'.

And when I live my life, when I go to work, making coffee for other people, this question is so relevant. Why am I doing this?

Why are we doing this?

Why are we living our life in these ways?

I am writing this post because the humanities needs to be interrogated.

It isn't something I've spent enough time thinking about.

But we need some field of thought that is meant to challenge our lives at the most basic level.

The humanities have an incredible purpose to fulfill.

But that purpose is so dull. So nullified. So meaningless at this point in American history.

The humanities are a joke.

Philosophy is a joke.

I feel this. I might not know it. But I feel it.

Why are the humanities so politically impotent?

And this brings me to a problem of my own: I regard the political as the highest reality.

I think of politics and economics as the supreme levels of reality.

And the political seems to have sufficiently separated itself from the reality of the humanities,

So what to do with the humanities?

Years of waiting will hopefully produce an adequate answer.

In the meantime, my anger will have to suffice.