The Century of Anesthesia

All it takes is flipping through a newspaper from 1964 or 1968 to realize that whales were already disappearing back then, wiped out by systematic and brutal slaughter, while violence spread through streets, public squares, and homes alike: violence of ideas, violence of class, violence in every form. One reads, perhaps, that by making war impossible, atomic physicists may have destroyed peace itself. On the very same pages that advertise Campari Soda as a source of joy and well-being, one finds reports on the burning days of Prague. Such is the nature of the modern world: celebrating prosperity while documenting tragedy.

I love reading old newspapers. They reappear like ghosts, returning to argue over revenge, massacres, and conflicts, yet never neglecting the entertainment pages or the latest gossip. Alongside the darkest headlines, there is always room for personal confessions, concise summaries of world events, and advice on how to survive a heatwave. What, then, has really changed?

We spin like tops in a world that never stops spinning. No one escapes this chain, this carousel of existence that, as Terzani observed, defines life itself. For many, existence has become a disease, an affliction to be treated, because meaning has gradually faded within minds inflamed by an excess of stimuli and possibilities.

The problem is that, from childhood onward, we are sold illusions. Once, there was no time for introspection; one simply had to work. Today, machines work in our place. Yet paradoxically, as material possibilities continue to expand, our ability to understand who we are appears to diminish.

There are also those who oppose progress, when the real problem is not progress itself but a distorted reality that seeks to replace reality altogether. The central issue, in my view, is incoherence. People seem increasingly unable to recognize what stands directly before their eyes. This condition of darkness and disorientation is evoked in the Qur’an:

“On the Day you see it, every nursing mother will forget the child she nurses, and every pregnant woman will miscarry her burden. You will see people as though they were intoxicated, though they are not intoxicated; rather, the punishment of Allah will be severe.”

— Qur'an, 22:2

Reflecting on sensory deprivation has never been more urgent. Today, there are so-called wellness flotation tanks, which some studies suggest may help manage anxiety and reduce depressive symptoms. The practice involves temporarily depriving the body of nearly all sensory input: sight, hearing, smell, and even proprioception—the so-called “sixth sense,” our ability to perceive the position and existence of our own body in space. But what does this need reveal? Why does contemporary man feel compelled to switch everything off in order to experience a moment of peace?

Boundaries no longer exist. From the Campari advertisements and cigarette campaigns that once filled newspaper pages, we have moved on to new methods, new therapies, new experiences, and new promises. The means have changed, but the objective appears unchanged: to escape from oneself and from life. There is a relentless effort to anesthetize the unconscious, to silence whatever disturbs us, because man can no longer defend himself. And he can no longer defend himself because he has forgotten a fundamental truth: the world does not belong to him.

In his determination to dominate everything, he has lost sight of his limits. And when limits disappear, what remains is not freedom but confusion. God alone holds power over all things; yet man persists in behaving as though he were the owner of what has merely been entrusted to his care.