The wild duck

A play by Ibsen.

Idealism is a lie. Absolute truth is a mistake. It doesn’t help anyone for humans are too weak for it. Is it better to live a life of lies and be happy than to discover the truth and break down ? Is all feeling a sham ? Why are we play-acting all the time, even to ourselves ? And why this need to give ourselves a “life-lie”, something which makes us want to live. Why can’t we accept that a life is purposeless, it just is and live it, without having to resort to making believe that we have a purpose, and far worse, that it is important and of use to others but ourselves.

But I also remember reading another play by Ibsen after which I felt that absolute truth was the one way to salvage a relationship .. wonder which book that was.

This also vaguely reminded me of the themes of several things I’d read or seen earlier :

The quiet american
Ko – a tamil film

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