Lately I have been distinguishing Buddhism from Christianity in my recent readings. Althought, at bottom, both religions are nihilistic and decadent, I have realized Buddhism is a much healthier and more realistic view of life and philosophically superior.

Unlike the Christian, who is always teeter-tottering on a razor edge trying to avoid sin, the Buddhist’s main goal is to just reduce suffering itself. You can see how the Buddhist does not fall in to the same trap of self-deception as the Christian does, and on a philosophical level there is no black and white thinking that polarizes with good and evil, the moral presuppositions. Buddhism has already left them far behind, with the realization that they are all illusons, deceptions. In conclusion, the Buddhist is free, free from resentment and free from the obligation of preaching morality where she or he judge others.

The buddhist succeed in the reduction of suffering by living a passive and non-urgent way life. He or she does not become angry or bitter, resentful, no matter how severe the crimes someone has committed against him or her. With a greater self-discipline the buddhist is better prepared to control his or her desires and avoid exciting his or her senses, whereas the Christian, unfortunately, does the exact opposite by living an ascetic lifestyle that represses the natural desires and engages in prayer that maintains an emotionally charged relationship with his or her God. The Buddhist, by avoiding suffering, is capable of managing a steady peace, experience tranquility, be calm, and express compassion in his lifestyle and character.

What most do not realize is that the Buddhist actually succeeds in the avoidance of suffering, while the Christian cannot and does not at all succeed avoiding sin. Sadly, the Christian is in perpetual need of “redemption” and “forgiveness,” and continually fails to acquire the “grace” of God, the only possible absolution. Conclusion: the Buddhist is entirely capable of attaining his or her goals: an actual peace of mind and a tranquil life today.

History teaches us that the mode of philosophical thought predetermines its results. Philosophy, conceived as either a reflective, a contemplative or a communicative discipline - where philosophizing is the act of reflection, contemplation or communication - contains the impulse towards a system. What often entrenches the mind is dogma, in the form of worthless first principles, the advocacy of degenerating metaphysics, and the required lip-service to distinguished intellectuals. In order to resist this solidification of the mind, drop the abstract play of abstractions and return back to the present moment and rethink the situation, the problem, the concept under question. Moreover, a rigorous and honest self-criticism will help avoid the repetition of ineffective methods. Perhaps new directions, even if they are risky, are called for, since by giving up in comfort and security, one gains new ground by boldness. When the mind makes itself fluid and mobile - call the concept into question - war is declared against slothfulness, the inertia of thought, and static views and isolated idee fixes are condemned.

What ultimately limits people is a deep and protracted bad faith – far worse than just an inability to confront reality - for it is a refusal of seeing things as they are in perception. The older one becomes, the more he or she sinks into the past, into obsolesce and irrelevance. What is already agreed as the consensus turns into a doctrine - a systematic treatise that demands “thou must” - a mental veil that prevents clear perception, a wall that blocks new paths of thought. The true spirit of philosophy is never the unquestioning and slavish adulation of the zeitgeist, for its history is far more active and constructive in the creation of concepts, even though this very assertion already falls short.

In order to rid oneself of myths and misconceptions one must give up the search for a first principle of metaphysics -a foundation of knowledge, a logical sequence of concepts, or a conceptual framework that serves as a perfect sieve where everything is filtered through, information in, garbage out - for the magic formula to philosophy does not exist. Concepts are mere shadows of perception, derivative, and they function as vague possibilities in the brain. In the creation of the concept, the thinker is absorbed in experience, and in pure perception insights emerge and inspire a whole new perspective, an appropriate understanding of reality. In order to become a free thinker, all fetishes of intellectualism (books, techniques, formulas, catchy slogans) must be given up.

Whenever one contemplate over an unpleasant experience, oftentimes one think in the hypothetical: if only I had done this instead of that! The correct method or the solution arrives long after it is needed. But this is not the problem, that the thought is too late and one’s knowledge is blamed for being deficient. Had I known more, or thought more carefully! The actual solution is a failure of being truly absorbed in the here and now - paying careful attention to the text – and remain insensitive to the changing circumstances. I continually repeat my own thoughts, re-apply old theories and ideas that have nothing to do with the present situation. Reading additional books, absorbing theories and re-thinking do not improve the problem either. Consciousness is a river one cannot step in twice at the same point.

The creative thinker is conspicuous and stands apart from the rest – not because they know more – for they are capable of discarding preconceived notions, their subjectivity, and focus intensely in their perception by having the imagination to peer beyond the immediate objects of perception. Where the scholar constructs idealized structures (ideal political state, rational morality, mathematical formula) according to rationality, and his servile loyalty leads to a constant confusion of the model for the real and force experience to filter through such tidy algorithms, the thinker knows the right way to articulate what is and what isn’t, without the crutch of a philosophical system, especially when he realizes the inadequacy of language itself, in a profound encounter with being.

However, knowledge, experience and theories are all limited themselves, for careful reflection does not truly prepare oneself for the chaos of life and the limitless possibilities that it contains. This difference between our convictions and what actually happens is “friction,” and the difference is permanent. Our minds should be pliable enough to keep up with change and adapt to surprises. The more one adapts one’s thoughts to the circumstances, the more authentic one’s knowledge will be. On the other hand the farther one is buried in predigested theories and other people’s experiences, the more distant and distorted his/her thoughts become.

While there is value in investigating the failure of previous thoughts, it is more important to develop the ability to think in the moment. the mind is akin to a river: the faster it flows, the better it keeps up with the present, for change is constant and new paradigms of thoughts are possible. Only the agents of change drive intellectual revolutions in science, in philosophy, and in art.

The first principle of thought is to dispense with all principles, all systems of philosophy, all the “ism” school of thought. The very greatest of all philosophers were not mere mouthpieces of a monolith of systematic metaphysics, for they found a new perspective of all-too-familiar problems, tired subjects and other dead-end topics. The scholar’s conviction that philosophy must obey inexorable laws or function according to timeless rules results in a rigid and static position, is married by a myopic perspective, one that easily hardens theory into dogma. The sacred cows of the past are all hollow idols that deserve the hammer of the allzermalmer, since they typically fail Nietzsche’s “tuning fork” test. For the oldest idols of them all are are also – the hollowest!

Our education is a major obstacle for independent thinking, due to its tendency to inscribe “precepts” deep within the mind of the student. The trained thinker wastes time struggling with learned rules rather than the present circumstances. Socrates holds the key: the thinker knows nothing and began anew, free of even the most cherished ideals. His mentality isn’t cluttered - for his insights come from immediate experience, an authentic intuition. He thinks, rather than depend on crutches like someone else’s book or theory.

The current paradigm of philosophy is actually a dangerous impediment for freethinking - even if it does seem to be successful and solve a host of problems. The member of the ruling ideology tends to echo the same strategies of thought, which turns him into a mental sloth, complacent enough to fall in step with the times. A true thinker should remain constantly suspicious, and avoid getting drunk on the zeitgeist by recasting each problem of philosophy in a new light.

Children themselves are naturally adaptive; their minds were constant, always receptive to new experiences and capable of immersing themselves thoroughly. The child learned quickly, for the world is completely new. When facing obstacles (frustration, boredom) the child became creative in their dealing with the problems, and moved on to other things. In this respect, the geniuses such as Leibniz, Plato, etc., were childlike. They saw things as they are, and remained sensitive to inconstant experience. Because change is perpetual, the mentally fluid adapts the quickest to the circumstances, dispensing with preconceived notions.

In the history of philosophy, progress occurs only when a generation successfully identifies the unexamined notions of its previous generation. The current generation develops a new method of thought that maximized a novel way of seeing. The thinker has a extraordinary antenna that is synchronized for the budding trends in thought, while retaining the inherent character of flexibility in order to adapt to those trends. In other words, the thinker is ahead of everyone else, because he lacks the sentimentality that is attached to a fashionable school of thought, and knows which rising trend is viable. The mind of the thinker is as pliable as a quicksilver.

The predictability of daily life is inimical to free thinking, for insights sometimes come during or after a complete shattering of habitual behavior. Comfort and routine and stale pattern often entrench the mind with stale patterns, and enchain it to the past. One often begins with a great idea, but during the execution, the idea is buried under a straitjacket of a rigid structure of form, and the process of creation of thought is merely mechanical. When the mind is forced to deal with a new aspect of reality, it might be risky, but also, refreshing and reinvigorating. When people are acting as they often do, the dynamic stays the same. Once a novel way of thinking takes place, the dynamic is transformed, and new possibilities emerge. When the mind adapts to the complexity and chaos of the world by becoming a quicksilver, free of rigid tactics or the comforts of static positions where it is obliged to defend an idea. Old problems gain new angles for attack.

In summary, this is intended as a strategy of thought for wrestling with a problem, a concept, and in dealing with the friction and the discrepancy between what is intended and what actually occurs. Whether this entire exercise is a thinly veiled entry of “thou must,” or self-criticism, a private lesson that subtlely erects another principle of philosophy for all mankind, it does not depend on whether the writer must be a philosopher. Perhaps a “mock” philosopher can outline the zones of thought that is what Proust calls the “real without being actual, ideal without being abstract.” The reader is free to determine this a “credo ut intelligam,” and rifle what is useful and then discard the rest as nonsense.

“To know that one is in a certain condition, in a certain state, is already a process of liberation; but a man who is not aware of his condition, of his struggle, tries to be something other than he is, which brings about habit. So, then, let us keep in mind that we want to examine what is, to observe and be aware of exactly what is the actual, without giving it any slant, without giving it an interpretation. It needs an extraordinarily astute mind, an extraordinarily pliable heart, to be aware of and to follow what is; because what is, is constantly moving, constantly undergoing a transformation, and if the mind is tethered to belief, to knowledge, it ceases to pursue, it ceases to follow the swift movement of what is. What is, is not static, surely - it is constantly moving , as you will see if you observe it very closely. To follow it you need a very swift mind and a pliable heart - which are denied when the mind is static, fixed in a belief, in a prejudice, in an identification; and a mind and heart that are dry cannot follow easily, swiftly, that which is.” - Krishnamurti

Here are several formal definitions of tragedy:

Etymology
In ancient Greek, tragedy is literally “goat song,” from tragos (goat) and oide (song). A form of ritual sacrifice that involves chloral song, paying respect to Dionysus, the god of fields and vineyards. Some scholars claim Greek dramatic tragedy developed out of this ritual.

Lexicography
In Poetics, Aristotle formally defined tragedy as:
“The imitation of an action that is serious and also, as having magnitude, complete in itself; in language with pleasurable accessories, each kind brought in separately in the parts of the work; in a dramatic, not in a narrative form; with incidents arousing pity and fear where with to accomplish its catharsis of such emotions.”

According to Diogenes (4th century), tragedy is a narrative about the fortunes of heroic or semi divine characters. More prosaically, the archbishop Isidore of Seville claimed that tragedy comprises sad stories about the commonwealths and kings. The grammarian John of Garland defined tragedy as a poem written in the grand style about shameful and wicked deeds, one that begins in joy and ends in grief. The ever magniloquent Sir Phillip of Sidney said “high and excellent tragedy” opens the severest wounds and displays the ulcers covered with tissue, that it caused kings afraid to become tyrants, and shows how tyrants “manifest their tyrannical humors.” Tragedy “stirs the affects of admiration and commiseration, teacheth the uncertainty of this world and upon how weak foundations the gilden roofs are build.”

in both theory and practice tragedy is typically a form of drama that is concerned with the (mis)fortunes, and ultimately, the disasters that happen to people.

Besides the aforementioned Oedipus, in the canon of tragic works we find Agamemnon, Antigone, Hecuba, Romeo and Juliet, Antony and Cleopatra, Hamlet, Duchess of Malfi, Samson Agonistes, Phedre, Jaffier and Belvidera, Cato, Don Carlos, Brand, Deirdre..

Some of the common traits of the characters in tragedies account for their tragic situation: they possess virtues of excellence, nobleness, passions, and other gifts and virtues that separate them from the rest of the people. However, those virtues aren’t worth a hill of beans – they make no difference as the characters sink in self-destruction or are destroyed by external forces. The most stark element of tragedy is its message of sheer hopelessness or the inevitability of fate. Even though there is no hope for them within the tragedy, perhaps there is hope, afterwards. For the audience, tragedies do show a limited reprieve from the inevitability of fate, once the failure of the tragic character is understood as an epiphany – that there is an unalterable and eternal law of existence, the way the world is in which men must obey.

The Chorus in the beginning of Anouilh’s play Antigone express this best:

“…the machine is in perfect order, it has been oiled ever since time began, and it runs without friction. Death, treason, and sorrow are on the march and they move in the wake of the storm of tears, of stillness… tragedy is clean, it is restful, it is flawless… in tragedy nothing is in doubt and everyone’s destiny is known. That makes for tranquility. There is a sort of fellow-feeling among characters in a tragedy he who kills is as innocent as he who gets killed. It is all a matter of what part you are playing. Tragedy is restful and the reason is that hope, that foul and deceitful thing, has no part in it.”

The early principal writers of tragedy
Phrynicus, Pratinas, Choerilus, Thespis (6th century BC)
Historians attribute Thespis with the innovation of introducing a protagonist into tragic performances and gave him a role that used to be the task of the chorus, which in turn, gave birth to acting.

Aeschylus (525-436 BC), Sophocles (496-406), Euripides (480-406)
Aeschylus added a second actor (deuteragonist), and Sophocles added a third (tritagonist). Euripides, much to Nietzsche’s chagrin, replaced the chorus with rational dialogue. These three tragedists produced hundreds of plays in the fifth century AD, an unmatched corpus of tragedy in history. However, by 400 BC Greek tragedy was completely exhausted. With the exception of Seneca, Roman tragedy left much to be desired, and for the next 1,500 years tragedy utterly vanished. Scholars offer reasons why Byzantine civilization failed to produce drama, and the popular one is the Church Liturgy was sufficient to satisfy the dramatic and histrionic needs of people. The great tragedians inspired the symbolic drama of Church ritual, and the mystery plays (Passion and Death of Christ) in turn inspired secular drama. During the Elizabethan period, tragedy was revived and based on the 5-act model of Seneca, in a rhetorical style.

Modern dramatists
At the end of the sixteenth century AD, the Spanish writers of tragedy were Cope de Vega (1562-1635), Molina (1571-1648), and Calderon (1600-1681). Corneille and Racine hailed from France, and in the 17th century, tragedy made a brief cameo in England in Dryden’s “All For Love,” 1678, Milton’s “Samson agonistes” (1671), Thomas Otway’s “Venice Preserved” (1682), and Southerne’s “Fatal Marriage” (1699). However, after 1700, very little of tragedy has aged well or survived long enough to sustain interest.

Whence then the death of tragedy?
Some blame the decline of verse drama as the culprit behind the disappearance of tragedy. Dramatic prose worked pretty well, but verse seemed too close to an unconscious parody or deliberate imitation of Elizabethan and Jacobean blank verse. These flaws are obviously manifest in even the talented dramatists like Knowles, Keats, Tennyson, Browning, and Swinburne.

If tragedy is analyzed as the reflection or expression of the inner nature of man, how he views the universe, his role in society or era, then the concept of tragedy has dramatically changed from the sixteenth century. The tone and the scope of tragedy has changed – where you usually had the king or queen, you now have the grief or misery of the ordinary person: the mother, the peasant, the tramp, and etcetera. There are elements of tragedy in existentialism, where tragedy is an authentic experience (Jean Paul-Sartre’s plays). Moreover, the modern-day dramatist often tries to express the wretchedness of man in understatements, sometimes by silence. In the place of articulate, deep and self-conscious farewell speeches of an Othello, we get the nearly inarticulate rambling of Davies in Pinter’s “The Caretaker,” where he falls into a protracted silence.

Recently I’ve thought about how tragedy has been minimized in modern culture if not totally eliminated. If tragedy is supposed to be the aesthetic experience par excellence, the most divine product, then its slow fade to black is worth investigating. It is a given that the greatest of literary geniuses of the modern era consistently fail to produce a contemporary account of tragedy, and the reasons are legion.

Setting aside the potentially many other factors, here is one possible account: despite evolving as rational creatures, our animal nature remains potent. It reacts only within the sphere of perception, the immediate environment, which chains thinking to the heat of the current moment. Our rational and animal natures have been in constant conflict. During reflection we formulate plans for a goal, but in the heat of the moment, we sink to emotions and lose perspective. Sometimes we’re clever when we get what we want without hassle, but hardly ever examine the consequences or whether that is necessary. The deliberate, rational and reflective thinker is often eclipsed by the screaming, reactive and emotional child.

But the ancient Greeks, supposedly, were closer to the “great leap forward” (from immediate Dionysian experience to Apollonian abstractions) than we were, and they found this dual nature to be tragic. Man was tragic, because his knowledge is insignificant, his vision, limited, and his goals, ultimately comic. We find the protagonist in Oedipus Rex optimistic, because he thinks he knows enough to decide what to do, and at the same time, he is beholden to his emotions and desires. Given a limited perspective, the protagonist is doubly reckless - but once the poor sap finds out the awful truth, he rips his eyes out. Despite being able to see the world, he couldn’t see into himself: his inner eye was blind.

The Greek drama has changed - and despite a brief resurgence during Renaissance, and a short-lived fad of existentialism in the 40’s, these days, we’re no longer tragic, or at least, our culture values has changed and the majority of our creative art reflect little tragic elements. Perhaps it is because of the enculturation of the Grand Dogma during the Age of Reason, outlets like therapy replaced the catarthic function of greek tragedy, resulted in the decline of the audience for tragedy.

Also, look here for additional comments on the tragic and religious impulses.