October 23, 2008

Prelude to reclude


Example. Trust and taking-for-granted

Consider. Trust is trust-in and thus specific-to. Trust is personal and a belief or assumption bestowing on subject or object a felt-now assurance of stability. Interaction-with is without reservation.

Specimens. I trust my car to start and get me to work everyday. I place my trust in it as a means of transportation. My car historically, and for the indefinite but not unlimited future, does what I want it to. I get into it in the morning and start it the same way as always, seldom thinking about or anticipating problems.

I also trust my friend. I know how he behaves, what his values are, and so forth. When I relate to him, I know he will respond in certain ways.

Consider. Taking-for-granted. There are recurrent events such as the sun's rise, and there are . . .

Discussion. And so it goes, following in imperfect fashion the models set before us since ideal forms and essences and properties became the parlance. But what is description's end? And is beginning-to-define the step-relative of direct experience?

If to grasp the jell-o and hold it still long enough to discern what it is requires definition/description, there must be some objects of intentional view worth and not worth bothering about. Who cares really about yellow jell-o down or up or around or so fully and carefully delimited such that we can say this, and not that, is what it is?

For the phenomena (objects of intentional view) we would care about, those are worthy of delimitation to the limits possible, not all possible phenomena. The experience of inserting a stent into an artery of mine before performing the procedure would, as sense would have it, important, vital, critical. Get this phenomenon right down to the nth degree please, and don't bother me with definitions tentative.

Then it must be understanding and expertise, knowledge and perfect execution. These must be description's end. But is execution a part of the descriptions we would forge? Not exactly. It is execution in combination with knowledge, and knowledge in combination with execution, and so on round and round and up and down the hermeneutic spiral. Each builds and extends the other to the limit of need or value. Understanding then is not representation in words alone but also manifest praxis.

But is there understanding without concomitant application? Another way to ask the question is whether knowledge always has a use, or are there standalone, stable insights, what might be considered "justified true belief[s]" sufficient unto themselves?

To name one, love. At least a part of love never asks the smitten to do more than just be in the experience of the wonder. In addition, one need not fully understand in the sense of cognitive comprehension what the love-experience is.

So the horizon of explanations and understandings opens to knowledges plural--systems (e.g., biological), psychology, philosophy (e.g., epistemology), religion, and so on. It also opens to practices. And it opens to that which may or may not be important enough to describe in the senses of object-in-view and how that is for me or you or us.

Thus, partial, fleeting . . . something like sculpting, because other than what does not need dissection and display and employment, we have rudimentary tools such as language to make experience possible and meanings transferable.

Is that enough? Surely it is. Surely it suffices . . . for now, and permits proceeding. We have world enough, but not time.

October 4, 2008

This experiment* reminded me

  • I will never be here again. Drink it all in.
  • We are embedded in constraints of our own making.
  • Some rebound easily. For some it takes time.
  • Sanity is relative. "There but for . . . "
  • People don't mean what they say really, ever.
  • There is my stuff, and yours, and theirs.
  • I can go broke and look into the abyss . . . and survive.
__________
* The trial of 2007.

Sepulchral inscription two

There is no one who will ever know the secrets of your heart. I suspect there are so many and so varied and so deep, some even unconscious, that full knowledge and self awareness escapes even the most advanced or enlightened among us. Having said that, I believe that some among those who are left after we are gone will be curious or interested to know more, to have as big a slice of knowledge and understanding as is possible, if only because we-others who have traveled this road can guide us on our way. The insatiability of these journey makers is not about us, the dead and gone, but about everything and themselves.

So it is that we take to writing or otherwise documenting who we are. And whatever we intend to communicate, that pales in comparison with who or what we are in total. Once externalized and all taken together, images and strong possibilities come to the insatiable from which s/he will take what s/he will.

Who knows if our best friend was killing herself with negative messages she sent to every one of her cells for years? Was it old age or meaninglessness that finally did auntie in? Was my partner ever really there when we were together? or was he somewhere else, hoping for a better life with or without me? Did that person in that moment delight or destroy me intentionally, because of me somehow? Or was it somehow else?

In this life we never know. At least not the in fullness. There is always the known hidden from view, and the unknown perhaps forever unattainable here.

Is it our duty to leave records? to make ourselves as transparent as possible, or necessary in the moment? Is it proper and safe to be invisible except for what people can observe? Can today be understood in light of the inevitable changes that will be tomorrow, and thus my thoughts and feelings and words will be different and then of no or some account at all? What do we owe our audiences and friends and loved ones to account for ourselves? Everything, nothing, what?

Such are the questions I ask each time I write and share the always unfinished text. And each time, I have no answers except to make an account in as accurate and honest a way as I can. I must let the cards fall as they will. It is then both intention and fate which propel me forward. I choose and act; I am chosen and acted upon.

There is a power or a force, or what you would call it, higher than ourselves. Limited in space and time can only posit the infinite because of our very condition. It can be no other way except nothingness, which some say is the same thing.