Of anything distinct from the world of sensation there is nothing that can be said for certain... hence my sickening uncertainty. I am not even certain of my loves or hates except momentarilly. I am an intermittent revolutionary, i even have sudden flashes of conservatism. But i am neither one nor the other. It is only the primitive type of man that loves wholeheartedly, or can give his passions consistently. But he is also happier, more fulfilled.
Those who have given their lives to an ideal, say a formalised and rigid ideal such as Christianity, are often content and may appear smug, considering themselves of the elect. But their mythology supplies them with a mystical, quiescent satisfaction. A man like me can only yearn for a satisfaction like that, because belief of any kind in absolute certainties is exactly what i find most difficult.