Polemic on the Meaning of Writing (continued...): Letter to the Editor

To whom it may concern,

I feel compelled to reply, although I must force myself not to second guess this compulsion, to the column in your publication about the meaning of writing. You will probably shrug your shoulders at this reply, as I am only an anonymous reader, and I may add that I only occasionally read your columns, whom may not matter much to you or your columnist. But reading the above mentioned column, I felt in a way offended, that is, moved perhaps by the opposition of thought, but I felt as if the writer was talking directly to me, in fact, I felt he was scolding me, and this is why I must reply. First of all, I do not understand why the writer of above, even bothers to bring forth his question, as he obviously does not take his own thoughts seriously, or else the column would never have been written in the first place. But secondly, and perhaps more relevantly, assuming we ought to take the writ or ply seriously, the question alludes to one of the fundamental questions in life and philosophy, which is why I feel addressed perhaps, namely, what is the meaning not of writing, or even of the column published itself, but what is the meaning of anything. Of course, the columnist, whom at this point we should no longer even take seriously, I think, should have asked this question in the first place. But I want to remind you, that this question is similar to other questions that have been asked in history by great thinkers and common believers alike, along the lines of 'why?', 'what is the purpose of life?' or in a more esoteric context 'what is god?' or in a scientific frame 'what was before the big bang?'. But what the columnist is seeking is not an answer to these questions, he is seeking for the question beneath these questions, namely, why do we question our selves? I may remind you that it was Descartes who concluded that after questioning all of his beliefs, he was left with one certainty only, that he was doubting, which he phrased in the blasé enigma 'I think therefor I am'. I may translate this perhaps to a less obscure phrase as 'I write therefor what I write has meaning'. The real question is never the question we are asking ourselves, the real question is 'why do I think?'. The meaning of questioning lies not in the possible answers that we hope to find, but in the capacity to question. And as I have just answered that question, I hope you will understand why I felt offended at the insinuations that your columnist implied in his writing.

Cordially,