avatarUlf Wolf

Summary

The text describes a profound personal revelation about the nature of truth and reality, experienced through the metaphor of a painting that represents the world.

Abstract

In late August or early September of 1968, the author encountered a large painting while passing by a hospital café, which served as a catalyst for a profound philosophical insight. The painting, depicting the world with heaven above and hell below, led the author to contemplate the concept of ultimate truth—a truth that everything in existence must prove. This truth, the author reasoned, must be absolute and unchallenged by any exception, not even the leg of an ant. The world within the painting, teeming with life and filled with individuals looking upwards in prayer or downwards in sin, or simply absorbed in television, was perceived by the author not as a mere representation but as the actual world itself. This realization was accompanied by the understanding that the dichotomy of good and evil is only perceptible from within the confines of the painting, or the world. From an outside perspective, these moral judgments dissolve, leaving only the existence of the painting. The author ponders the identity of the painter or director behind this grand depiction, questioning whether it is God or Brahman, and concludes with the anticipation that the ultimate truth, once found, would animate the painting to transcend its two-dimensional existence.

Opinions

  • The author believes in an ultimate, absolute truth that encompasses all aspects of existence without exception.
  • The world is perceived as a painting, a constructed reality with its own rules and perceptions of morality.
  • The concepts of good and evil are seen as relative, only meaningful within the context of the 'painting' of the world.
  • There is a suggestion that transcending the limitations of the world's framework might lead to a greater understanding or reality.
  • The author muses on the existence of a higher power or creator, such as God or Brahman, as the possible artist or director behind the scenes of life.
  • The text conveys a sense of wonder and philosophical inquiry into the nature of existence and the search for meaning.

The Painting

What Everything Proves is Ultimate Truth

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash

Early one afternoon late August (or early September) 1968, on my way to my room, I walked past the hospital café, and when I looked to my left there, leaning against the café wall, was a large painting of the world.

No, seriously: As epiphany, I saw that the world and everyone in it was just a painting, wherein: if you looked up you saw God and Good and Heaven and all those wholesome things your grandmother tried to teach you and when you looked down you saw the Devil and Evil and Hell — the bad stuff.

I don’t know where the painting sprung from, but I know that at the time I was on a mission to find the truth that everything proves — for only a truth meeting that criterion would be the real truth (as in the ultimate, absolute one) so went my reasoning. For if everything, except for a single ant’s third left leg proved an isolated truth, whether discovered or reasoned, it would still not be the ultimate truth, for here was this one ant’s leg that threw the equation out.

No, to be the capital-T truth, it had to be proven by every-thing, through all time: nothing short of that would be the capital-T Truth, the one I was looking for.

The painting I had now stopped to inspect in more detail, was densely populated by trees and flowers, birds and animals, and people, everywhere: people. Many of them looking up either in wonder or supplication — in prayer; many looking down at unwholesome thoughts or deeds: planned or done — grinning like the Devil, my grandmother Olga would have said, look at them. Most, though, were looking neither up nor down, they were watching television.

Two amazing certainties came to simultaneous fruition: I realized that I was not looking at a painting of the world, I was looking at the actual world itself — and that, so strange, the world itself was a painting, nothing but: it was painted.

And a third certainty blossomed: to perceive good above and evil below you had to be part of this painting, within that frame of reference (pun intended). Standing outside the painting, regarding it, you can see neither good nor bad, all you see is painting.

What a strange setup. Like a movie. Who was the painter? Who was directing this tragedy (or was it farce)? God? Brahman?

And a final notion blossomed and took wing: when I find the truth, the truth I was looking for, this painting would sprig to more life than life and step out itself, laughing.

© Wolfstuff

Truth
Ultimate Truth
Good
Evil
Painted Life
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