(no subject)
Feb. 15th, 2014 01:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
proximoceptionIn deism the world in effect becomes God - all we can know of the creator's intentions is inscribed in the place itself. As most of the place doesn't move much in relation to us agency is largely transferred to us, but it's an agency that must study the place to choose correctly. Ours is a reading relationship, followed by our action upon or within the text. And since there's a lot of it, we don't read the whole in any given subplace. We keep looking.
The transition to assuming there is in fact no creating intention matters remarkably little. If we merely read the world as though it were the written instructions for how to live in it we will still find much of it legible, after all: its phenomena recur, display regularities, reduce to effects of a finite number of principles of motion. Once we know enough we can surmise the sort of entity that might have created such a state of affairs, even address it. The addressing won't invite its response, of course, since there is no it, but doing so might permit certain interpretive actions upon its text. Saying things creates a baseline, flares up a pilot light. It commits ideas into material form, however fleetingly, allowing a sort of radar as the ideas bounce off of or unsettle or disperse among non-ideas. The world's response is what happens to our own.
The place-God is homelike if we can read it, either all of it or a part of it over and over, and then turn those readings into purposeful acts. Perhaps, if radar is the only way to see to move, the reading becomes part of or one with the act. A reading with no need to stop before converting itself to action becomes in a sense no reading at all. This is often the envied state: a stable relationship with a sustaining place is the home of homes. The promise of a reading-journey where all is legible is that of a home that is everywhere.
Proceeding in these hopes, it may be that we will find the only message readable in the world is its clear non-identity with the work of a kindly or stable creator. This revelation of the impossibility of home in a sense becomes home, a relationship with place the stability of which can be relied on - not the place but the relationship. Finding the god in godlessness, the person in impersonal place, may be necessary, may be the one way to prevent our tentacle needs from building mockeries of what they require elsewhere. May, at least, let us feel them flapping about where they can find no purchase, feel distinctly where they begin and end against the fluid elements sliding past.
Or it may be we will find that, given their origins in non-intention, our intentions share a family resemblance with that element. Accounting for the differences between the two may not just aid us as self-admonishment but permit the clearing of debris from our source in the inane, let us feel how far inside of us it goes, even up into our core, maybe even into every particle. Perhaps the differences are twists, are formal only, and the search for mind in non-mind finds not just it in us and us in it, but that the two are the same. Perhaps, though, it does not. Perhaps we will find ourselves hybrids, start paying two taxes. Start learning how to cheat on each to better pay the other.
The transition to assuming there is in fact no creating intention matters remarkably little. If we merely read the world as though it were the written instructions for how to live in it we will still find much of it legible, after all: its phenomena recur, display regularities, reduce to effects of a finite number of principles of motion. Once we know enough we can surmise the sort of entity that might have created such a state of affairs, even address it. The addressing won't invite its response, of course, since there is no it, but doing so might permit certain interpretive actions upon its text. Saying things creates a baseline, flares up a pilot light. It commits ideas into material form, however fleetingly, allowing a sort of radar as the ideas bounce off of or unsettle or disperse among non-ideas. The world's response is what happens to our own.
The place-God is homelike if we can read it, either all of it or a part of it over and over, and then turn those readings into purposeful acts. Perhaps, if radar is the only way to see to move, the reading becomes part of or one with the act. A reading with no need to stop before converting itself to action becomes in a sense no reading at all. This is often the envied state: a stable relationship with a sustaining place is the home of homes. The promise of a reading-journey where all is legible is that of a home that is everywhere.
Proceeding in these hopes, it may be that we will find the only message readable in the world is its clear non-identity with the work of a kindly or stable creator. This revelation of the impossibility of home in a sense becomes home, a relationship with place the stability of which can be relied on - not the place but the relationship. Finding the god in godlessness, the person in impersonal place, may be necessary, may be the one way to prevent our tentacle needs from building mockeries of what they require elsewhere. May, at least, let us feel them flapping about where they can find no purchase, feel distinctly where they begin and end against the fluid elements sliding past.
Or it may be we will find that, given their origins in non-intention, our intentions share a family resemblance with that element. Accounting for the differences between the two may not just aid us as self-admonishment but permit the clearing of debris from our source in the inane, let us feel how far inside of us it goes, even up into our core, maybe even into every particle. Perhaps the differences are twists, are formal only, and the search for mind in non-mind finds not just it in us and us in it, but that the two are the same. Perhaps, though, it does not. Perhaps we will find ourselves hybrids, start paying two taxes. Start learning how to cheat on each to better pay the other.
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no subject
Date: 2014-02-15 05:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-02-15 06:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-02-15 09:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-02-15 10:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-02-15 11:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-02-15 10:30 pm (UTC)That is not our own and, much more, not ourselves
And hard it is in spite of blazoned days.
no subject
Date: 2014-02-15 10:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-02-15 11:17 pm (UTC)the house corresponding to air.
no subject
Date: 2014-02-16 09:06 am (UTC)For our own part there does not seem to be any hybrid vigor in store. Doomed parasites to the end.
no subject
Date: 2014-02-16 02:33 pm (UTC)Parasites on matter? I dunno, even there you could say our consciousness dims at pleasure times - meals, sex, rest after labor. That which is parasitic on -us- wrestles us down physically at key points. Hell, most points. Whereas the peace you've spoken of finding in contemplating your death may be of a separate order.
no subject
Date: 2014-02-17 09:30 am (UTC)Where I'm going here, though, is that for all our ability to lay bare our flaws, whether through psychology or literature or evolutionary biology, it does not amount to anything other than perhaps lucid fragments of self-consciousness while participating in the act of mass parasitism. For all this we have the same level of self-control as yeast suffocating itself in a vat of brewing beer.
no subject
Date: 2014-02-18 04:23 am (UTC)I'm not quite on your page either, though, at least metaphor-wise. Better moments than others exist, which gives mind a task, information a value. Absolute ones, even, thus rendering reduction and fatalism inaccurate, though perhaps appropriate as tactics in certain sets of cricumstances.