Distrust presumes that there are “apparent” and “deceptive” motives as opposed to “real” and “true” motives. Such belief in deception almost implies faith in a conspiracy. I oppose my best efforts. I turn against them. Do I sabotage my best efforts? Are the recurring doubts of my best intentions a result of my Christian upbringing? A vestige of the sacrifice of all human goodness for the sake of a wise, all good God? Do I still harbor a belief in the fundamental sinfulness of myself and by extension in the sinfulness of other people? I alone am morally corrupt? Or is the self-doubt a symptom of a weak character? A defect of my background and upbringing? Can this lack of faith in myself be explained as manifestation of internalization of an abusive father and as such banal narcissism? Is biography destiny? Am I forgetting biology in order to indulge in introspection and avoid other people? Do I want more than I am capable of? Questions beget questions. Do I even want answers?
Doubt denies me any certainty whether of a corrupt nature or of a psychological explanation. I no longer know what to do with “absolute certainty” and “absolute truth.” Shades of uncertainty rule my life. Doubt is self-torture. Hence my other posts about the co-equality of unity and multiplicity of the self. My experience does not allow me unthinking faith in an essential oneness of soul. I am occasionally tempted to rest a little in Christianity.
Then there are the days when the doubt goes to sleep. It does not seem so hopeless that somehow I will be able to establish boundaries to the doubt. I would be able to get on with my life and start projects and undertakings. I would be able to love without tearing apart the object of my love. Then out of its slumber it wakes more ferocious and violent than before, as if it were a beast of prey lying in wait.
It is my belief that doubt will be overcome not by fighting it to the death as if to kill it once and for all, but by finding a purpose for it, by making use of it. Sometimes, though, the self-doubt appears to be an intellectual manifestation of more general self-destructive tendencies begotten by guilt. Could my salvation lie not in excision and sleep but in never ending opposition and conflict. Sometimes the doubt appears as a force of nature. My greatest danger is engaging in endless introspection and ratiocination in search of that useless combination of feelings that only would only make me feel better. The feeling of resolve is not resolve. Before the depression I used to say that I did not live my life with respect to pleasure and pain: I lived for my goals and desires. Now I find myself unable to set goals and I lack the vigor for desires (hopefully transient and from depression). Hence this blog as a project and diversion in my recuperation from depression.