“Pandora looked down into the empty urn, her heart sinking. The voice she thought she had heard, that had drawn her against her better judgement to open the thing a second time, was the voice of despair working its way back to her through history. Indeed, the voice that had called her was the voice of future generations, burdened by the magnitude of the calamity she had unleashed. And so she placed something of her own back into the jar, for their sake: a lie. The lie that hope remained. In this way, Pandora became the box herself, the box of the box, containing the terrible truth that there is no mortal relief from evil, but for the lie that evil is itself mortal.”
Passing from boredom to sex, philosophy to suicide, curiosity to despair, this collection of fragments by the philosopher and writer Jon Roffe constitutes a record of the forced dialogue with existence that is human life.
“Pandora looked down into the empty urn, her heart sinking. The voice she thought she had heard, that had drawn her against her better judgement to open the thing a second time, was the voice of despair working its way back to her through history. Indeed, the voice that had called her was the voice of future generations, burdened by the magnitude of the calamity she had unleashed. And so she placed something of her own back into the jar, for their sake: a lie. The lie that hope remained. In this way, Pandora became the box herself, the box of the box, containing the terrible truth that there is no mortal relief from evil, but for the lie that evil is itself mortal.”
Passing from boredom to sex, philosophy to suicide, curiosity to despair, this collection of fragments by the philosopher and writer Jon Roffe constitutes a record of the forced dialogue with existence that is human life.