Andrew was depressed. He knew something that few others did. Certainly he wasn’t arrogant enough to think he was the only one who had figured it out, but he was part of a select group that had. Oh sure, most people knew it on some level, hence the proliferation of anti-depressents and all forms of self-medication. Hence centuries of art and metaphor, hence the obviousness of it in the bible, and the book ishmael, and the show Battlestar Galactica, and the book land of the spotted eagle, and the book 1984, and etc etc etc. Most high art makes some allusion to it. People knew, but it was too big to admit. Perhaps he was just brave enough to admit it to himself, or stupid enough. What good was this knowledge? There’s very little you can do with it except be sad. Indeed, he was sad and he knew that there was no remedy, for the cause of his sadness was far too massive, far to unchangeable for one mere man to do anything about it. It would take an act of God to relieve his pain. And unfortunately for Andrew, God sure likes to take his sweet time.
The secret that was driving Andrew, and all of humanity, slowly mad was that he was a slave. That we are all slaves. Slaves to our own hubris, slaves to the idea that we know what to do and how to live and how to run things. Slaves to this great responsibility that we were never given but took for ourselves. Forced to work as hard as possible at destroying our own home, a precious gift from the universe that took billions of years to form, and we are wiping it out very quickly. So quickly in fact that Andrew wonders if it’s not already damaged beyond repair. Even if it isn’t it’s damaged far to much for him to enjoy it in his fleeting lifetime and this is what was depressing him. Yes, he was a slave, and so was everyone else. The master? Our hubris and greed and nothing more. Oh the irony, the painful, gut-wrenching irony. If it weren’t so sad it would be funny. Hell, it’s kinda funny anyway. Look at the fools, all convinced to death of their freedom yet all suffering from psychological problems that we cannot pinpoint, because a doctor will never tell you that you’re depressed because society is flawed. Why are we so self-destrutive and impudent and stupid? Andrew could thing of no good way to change the world so he thought he’d at least try to find out the answer to that question, perhaps that would help him determine a course of action…or at least understand the situation, just for understanding’s sake. If he could just undermine it even in the littlest way possible, that would ease the pain. Yes, had to find a way to undermine it, or risk losing his mind entirely.
