The Unconfessed

If one’s real feelings are revealed by what one does, then we do not need to talk about them. The love of incessant interrogation about our feelings must then be motivated by disbelief in their manifestation in the world of fact, and one may legitimately wonder why the disbelievers so separate feelings and action. Perhaps they know something about themselves that we don’t?

Alternatively, the function of interrogation may be to check whether we have the feelings we ought to have – namely whatever the interrogator needs us to have – or whether or not the re-education project has been properly completed.

Alternatively again, love of incessant interrogation is not motivated by any desire to know what our feelings are, but by something else entirely. This is most probably a police function, the search for evidence that can be used against us in court – where investigator, prosecutor and hanging judge are a unity, and all three need convictions to justify their budgets, which is to say in this context, to justify their existence. I uncover and indict fault, ergo sum. And in many jurisdictions, the queen of evidence is the confession. If our prime directive is not getting railroaded, framed and sent down, then we should take the necessary step of avoiding the interrogator, and then let the chips fall where they may.
If the sole purpose of the doubtful construct called “feelings” is that we should have the wrong ones, a case can be made for deconstructing them. Philosophers may enquire whether a useful, righteous and pleasant life is possible without having anything of the sort. If the games-player’s version of “feelings” is removed from the agenda of human life, what may be left to us?

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