Sheep

One of the most recurring themes in modern philosophy is existentialism. Philosophers talk about whether life has a meaning or not, or if it’s even supposed to have a meaning or not. Albert Camus, says all such questions are meaningless and the only real argument that exists is; Is it worth committing suicide? 

Morbid.

However, what Camus was referring to as suicide wasn’t the one that probably got conjured up in your mind. Camus talks about philosophical suicide. He says, that even trying to find the meaning in life is absurd. We are Sisyphus, rolling a heavy boulder against the slope. Any attempt to want to establish a purpose to your life despite overwhelming evidence against the presence of one is tantamount to suicide; philosophically.

I am not qualified to talk about any of these things, even if I were, I regret to inform you I value my neck more than I value my principles. 

The term, philosophical suicide, that’s what piques my interest. I feel like there’s a phenomenon where this term would be more apt. 

People are sheep. I am not being contemptuous, but they really are. There are no shepherds. There are only german shepherds, and oh boy, are they loud. They’ll woof here and woof there and make sure all the sheep form a orderly queue, and go exactly where it wants them to go. The sheep don’t make a sound. Occasionally they bleat in protest but the reciprocating bark is always louder, more shunning. And so it goes, the german shepherds segregate the sheep and march them into their respective pens across the pastures. Nothing is expected of the sheep by the dogs. They eat, live and all they have to do is stay in the pen where the german shepherds have escorted them. What’s the incentive for the sheep? Why follow the dogs? It’s simple. To them, the wolves that patrol the borders of the pasture, the wolves of uncertainty and doubt, are scary. The sheep find the numbing blankness that the german shepherds and the pens bring preferable to the liberty and skepticism that the region beyond the pasture and the wolves offer. But, why do the dogs do their duty? Oh it’s so simple. It’s in their nature to bark. If they get to bark (which they have to do anyway) and their voices somehow make the sheep follow them, well that’s just handy dandy then. Who doesn’t like to be the centre of attention or be the cause for rallying. 

Sometimes, the german shepherd of one pen, decides to have a fight with that of another. They’ll go on at each other from a distance. Yapping away into the night. Despite not really caring, the sheep find themselves in the thicket of the skirmish. Accidentally or deliberately, the louder barking of one of the dogs sways them from one pen to another, and certain sheep find themselves in the wrong area. Does it matter to them? Not really.  The barks weren’t of very varying frequencies anyway. They are in the new pen now. The dog must have been better at guiding them or how else would they have ever come here. They couldn’t possibly make this decision themselves. After all, they’re just sheep. They have no will to power or decision capability. They go where the herd is lead by the bark. Let’s not forget though, the sheep knows it’s worth too, and secretly, it relishes that the german shepherds would go nuts were it not for the sheep following them. And so like the most intelligent being, the sheep takes strength from the knowledge that it is content with being a sheep. Thus unbeknownst to it, the sheep commits philosophical suicide. 

Don’t be a sheep.

Think for yourself.

Happy International Women’s Day.