The intellectual who tries to escape from neurosis by escaping from facts is merely acting on the principle that “where ignorance is bliss, ‘tis folly to be wise.”

When belief in the eternal becomes impossible, and there is only the poor substitute of belief in believing, men seek their happiness in the joys of time. However much they may try to bury it in the depths of their minds, they are well aware that these joys are both uncertain and brief. This has two results. On the one hand, there is the anxiety that one may be missing something, so the mind flits nervously and greedily from one plesure to another, without finding rest and satisfaction in any. On the other, the frustration of having always to persue a future good in a tomorrow which never comes, and in a world where everything must disintegrate, gives men an attitude of “What’s the use anyhow?”

Consequently our age is one of frustration, anxiety, agitation, and addiction to “dope” Somehow we must grab what we can while we can, and drown out the realisation that the whole thing is futile and meaningless. This “dope” we call our high standard of living, a violent and complex stimulation of the senses, which makes them progressively less sensitive and thus in need of yet more violent stimulation. We crave distraction—a panorama of sights, sounds, thrills, and titillations into which as much as possible must be crowded in the shortest period of time.