We might as well

We might as well.  That there is no argument for or against life and living is not an argument against philosophy itself.  This is not so much because, while philosophy consists of arguments and while it seems senseless to pronounce any arguments when faced with the inarguable, it still behooves us to know our limitations so, like it or not, we have to chatter and see from innumerable vantage points this thing that is life, argue our way into a hole of life, until we are finally stuck there, like it or not.  It’s because philosophy does not live by argument alone; better said, it does not live by argument at all.  Philosophy, as a practice, as a living pursuit or calling, lies in dispositions and gestures, it lies in fate.  As though we are always called to dance with life and take life as a dance partner, and although she constantly berates us with her unanswerable questions, we take the hand that beckons us and we respond in myriad fashion, some as if wrangled and tangled up in some way by the traps of some unknown predator, others in quiet reverence, whose every movement becomes a kind of bow or a kind a prayer, whose every utterance becomes a hailing at the skies, no matter what their color or what they happen to bring, while still others have a heart built for a quicker tempo and limbs ready-made to frolick in ignorant joy with the many-faced monster who is their partner.  These last–and they do not make up the last of an exhaustive list, they are simply one possibility among inexhaustible possibilities, like the possibilities of a game of Go or some other endless game–they give us to realize that we might as well perform philosophy, as inevitably, sooner or later–always so soon, as soon as we take our first breath, as soon as we commit ourselves to living another instant–we will be moved one way or another by life, be forced to contort our bodies one way or another because of life!

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