Tonight, I opened my notebook of the past few years, and I saw this miscellaneous note in the piles of disorganized text. This was the first time I came into contact with philosophy two years ago. It has to be said that it was a very important transition period in my growth. It was only then that I began to transform, faded away from groaning, and began to slowly sublimate. I can also feel from the text that I read, the text before that was green and empty and a little sad, and the text after that slowly began to accumulate and have meaning. Looking back at this miscellaneous note now, although most of my current moods have deviated, the memories that were once so profound are about to be smoothed out. But the power of words is so great, it seems to give me infinite hope again, and confidence is as fresh as the wind blowing, and it cannot be questioned. --Inscription

"Philosophy Reading Halfway up the Mountain" It was Sartre who brought me into this ocean. As usual, inland people have never seen the ocean, but they have long been fascinated by countless legends about the ocean. In Sartre's story, I saw a small area of ​​blue sea and blue sky. The ripples of the sun's rays, the floating clouds of various colors, and the waterfowl fly around, leaving behind a mysterious shadow. Such an ocean is too refreshing, and it loses its strong appeal to me. Because things that are too beautiful are always unrealistic, and all I have the ability to choose is to escape.

And what aroused the real clarion call that I later plunged into this philosophical ocean was despair. It happened to confirm Shestov's sentence: Philosophy does not originate from surprise, as the Greek philosophers said, but from despair. For a while I was extremely dissatisfied with the situation I was in, dissatisfied with the trifles, dissatisfied with the country, dissatisfied with the constitution, dissatisfied with the mind. These grievances evoked deep and extraordinary thinking in me, accompanied by unprecedented sanity. In the end, the result of these thoughts was despair over the political situation. I wanted to change the despair, so I thought of Sartre and philosophy.

In a sense, Russell was my first sailor in this vast ocean, and he was my mentor in the spiritual world. I learned his story from his "History of Western Philosophy", which further aroused my desire for this ocean. From him, I have been exposed to a lot of analytics and am deeply influenced by it. But this patchwork of analysis throws the ocean into chaos, and I'm suddenly terrified like never before. For the first time I was afraid of the distant ocean, and for the first time I wanted to return to the land. I think this fear stems from the countless dazzling rays of light hidden in the unknown ocean. It turns out that all of them are superhumans, and philosophers are all superhumans. There are countless scientists, physicists, mathematicians, astronomers. It turns out that philosophers are just their outer garments, or the essence of their philosophy is wrapped in a secular outer edge. It turns out that philosophy is neither pure nor simple. Only people with rational thinking in such a rational discipline can best unify the macro and micro, and can create such a rational theory and philosophy. This is not what Sartre brought to me. Integrating philosophy and literature together, the sensibility of literature is not so easy to carry philosophy to the end. Not everyone has Sartre's talent and luck. In the superhuman realm, literature is too pale. Without literature, I may be nothing, so I would rather others laugh at me for being arrogant and label myself as literature. How much I want to talk about literature to the end, but I can't forget the deepest despair and can't easily give up this thorny road. Lost in the huge ocean, don't get lost. The bear's paw is what I want, and the fish is what I want. You can't have both. Maybe I should believe that I too, like Sartre, have this talent. Walking on the mountainside of philosophy, there is no room for hesitation.

Tonight, I opened my notebook of the past few years, and I saw this miscellaneous note in the piles of disorganized text. This was the first time I came into contact with philosophy two years ago. It has to be said that it was a very important transition period in my growth. It was only then that I began to transform, faded away from groaning, and began to slowly sublimate. I can also feel from the text that I read, the text before that was green and empty and a little sad, and the text after that slowly began to accumulate and have meaning. Looking back at this miscellaneous note now, although most of my current moods have deviated, the memories that were once so profound are about to be smoothed out. But the power of words is so great, it seems to give me infinite hope again, and confidence is as fresh as the wind blowing, and it cannot be questioned. --Inscription

"Philosophy Reading Halfway up the Mountain" It was Sartre who brought me into this ocean. As usual, inland people have never seen the ocean, but they have long been fascinated by countless legends about the ocean. In Sartre's story, I saw a small area of ​​blue sea and blue sky. The ripples of the sun's rays, the floating clouds of various colors, and the waterfowl fly around, leaving behind a mysterious shadow. Such an ocean is too refreshing, and it loses its strong appeal to me. Because things that are too beautiful are always unrealistic, and all I have the ability to choose is to escape.

And what aroused the real clarion call that I later plunged into this philosophical ocean was despair. It happened to confirm Shestov's sentence: Philosophy does not originate from surprise, as the Greek philosophers said, but from despair. For a while I was extremely dissatisfied with the situation I was in, dissatisfied with the trifles, dissatisfied with the country, dissatisfied with the constitution, dissatisfied with the mind. These grievances evoked deep and extraordinary thinking in me, accompanied by unprecedented sanity. In the end, the result of these thoughts was despair over the political situation. I wanted to change the despair, so I thought of Sartre and philosophy.

In a sense, Russell was my first sailor in this vast ocean, and he was my mentor in the spiritual world. I learned his story from his "History of Western Philosophy", which further aroused my desire for this ocean. From him, I have been exposed to a lot of analytics and am deeply influenced by it. But this patchwork of analysis throws the ocean into chaos, and I'm suddenly terrified like never before. For the first time I was afraid of the distant ocean, and for the first time I wanted to return to the land. I think this fear stems from the countless dazzling rays of light hidden in the unknown ocean. It turns out that all of them are superhumans, and philosophers are all superhumans. There are countless scientists, physicists, mathematicians, astronomers. It turns out that philosophers are just their outer garments, or the essence of their philosophy is wrapped in a secular outer edge. It turns out that philosophy is neither pure nor simple. Only people with rational thinking in such a rational discipline can best unify the macro and micro, and can create such a rational theory and philosophy. This is not what Sartre brought to me. Integrating philosophy and literature together, the sensibility of literature is not so easy to carry philosophy to the end. Not everyone has Sartre's talent and luck. In the superhuman realm, literature is too pale. Without literature, I may be nothing, so I would rather others laugh at me for being arrogant and label myself as literature. How much I want to talk about literature to the end, but I can't forget the deepest despair and can't easily give up this thorny road. Lost in the huge ocean, don't get lost. The bear's paw is what I want, and the fish is what I want. You can't have both. Maybe I should believe that I too, like Sartre, have this talent. Walking on the mountainside of philosophy, there is no room for hesitation.