People keep having moments of suffering and unhappiness which pass away just as quickly as the blissful and delightful ones. These, along with some nondescript and common time spans, make up our lives. We try to run away from suffering towards pleasure. The typical literary and philosophical temperament is slightly different to others in that it does not always try to escape miseries and anguishes but continues to dwell in them because such experiences are a part of its general makeup. Such a person is one whose neurosis has seasoned him like the hot sun seasons a log of wood once it is exposed to it for a certain length of time. The literary mind gradually begins to acquire visions. These visions are direct results of dwelling in uncertainties and finding equilibrium and harmony even in the midst of intensely unpleasant situations. This kind of attitude keeps perceiving patterns in life, seeing eternity in the moment, and tiding over personal pain in the general designs of creation. This ability makes the literary mind distinctly different from others.
The visions of the literary, philosophical, and sometimes spiritual person, make him realize that suffering is a kind of blessing in disguise and ecstatic moments are there only to go. Armed with this vision, the author is able to impersonalize perceptions of things; things become less painful because life is already numbed with neurotic and painful moments (that have remained the lot of the writer’s life). Little disappointments do not grieve the writer because he is already surrounded by larger disappointments. This helps such a person to see more into life than the ordinary man’s eye sees. He does not merely see things but he has visions about them which he finally voices in his writings. The typical literary man gets lost in these visions and ignores the more practical, worldly aspects of life and therefore his writing lacks a real purpose in the worldly sense. Kant calls the literary endeavour, “a purposiveness without a purpose”.