I'm having fun. It's the "seriousness of a child at play." I really don't mean to offend, but perhaps the imp of the perverse grabs the steering wheel now and then. I'm a smiley joker in person.Thank heavens for small mercies. X-) — Wayfarer
I am sure 'religion' recognizes that, in fact, is built around it. Certainly, that insight is often corrupted and distorted, but it's present in the texts. 'He who saves his own life will lose it...' — Wayfarer
As we enter the game of discourse, yes, we are impinging on the world. In a minimal sense, you can call this politics. But in that sense Keats was a politician. Even Lewis Carroll was therefore a politician --in that minimal sense. But this isn't about "politics is bad" or "politics is good" but a pointing toward that which transcends political assertions or political focus. It's about being able to laugh from one perspective at our earnest investment from another perspective. Are we good people? Good liberals? Good conservatives? Good whatever? Is that the whole story? Or is that a crust on the top of our consciousness? A construction of "oughts" and "truths"?Always, in the sense that anyone arguing a postion as wisdom or ethics is concerned with politics. They want to make the world into something, even if they are only concerned with speaking their own voice — TheWillowOfDarkness
This is partially true, except that I still think you are understanding in political terms, as if I am "politically" asserting an anti-politics. Thou shalt not take politics seriously! But that is just more (generalized) politics and law bringing. I'm not trying to say that X is bad. Nor do I assert that my ideas are even compatible with just anyone's personality. We can use the "escape" metaphor, but it's misleading, for it already frames such an "escape" in terms of some violated duty. Thou shalt advance the cause of humanism/progressivism! You're right that the attitude I'm hinting at reframes all of this duty and perceives the narcissism/escapism within this "duty." It's hard to meet someone who doesn't think that his duty is also your duty. His abstract "gods" or causes are also yours, if you ask him. But look around: there is no consensus. There are positions that depend on thier anti-positions for an inferior or "fallen" out-group. Be it condescending pity or outright hatred, the group identification is something to melt in to.You view the "transcendent" as our meaningful escape from the squabbling politics of the world. Whether the transcendent Christian, mystical, atheistic or someonewith else, you view them all equal which saves from the ignomy of conflict, duty and demands of others. Everyone is saved by their ability to the meaning of the world and any conflict it might contain. — TheWillowOfDarkness
The pragmatisist is found to be ignoring the world in favour of the fiction which produces a lesser degree of conflict or hides its presence. You often see pragmatism expressed as the phrase "we only need what works." How exactly is anything going to work though? For that to function, the world must have significance in-itself, else there would be no measure of what was working. Conflict and significance must be expressed by the world. It cannot be just a question of politics. — TheWillowOfDarkness
Sin can never annihilate worth altogether, but it can certainly diminish it. — John
Not that this is directed at me, but I think "right" is functioning here in the realm of politics or the Law. We are all endlessly guilty before the infinite law. "Finite" personality is just endless accusation and guilt. To accuse finite personality for this is just--- more finite personality, more word grinding. That too. That especially. By "infinite" personality, I just mean the negation of this game as the ideal mode. We "fall" into liberalism or conservatism or some other righteous role. Even here, I clash with you, enter the game of essences in order to point at it. Life is funny.A sinner has just as much of a right to exist and be loved as the perfectly virtuous. — TheWillowOfDarkness
True.But, talking in philosophical terms, the point is that the Christian belief in the resurrection obviously implies acceptance of a reality beyond the physical. This challenges our accepted understanding of the way things are on a lot of levels. — Wayfarer
(Hence what I call 'handrail materialism' - the adoption of materialism as an attitude because it gives you something to hang onto in the face of uncertainty.) — Wayfarer
I agree. Live with the unknown. Don't make it about knowledge. That's just the same, sad metaphysical quest for the magic word. And yet there are words that liberate us from magic words...ladders to be thrown away... Or that's how I see it..I think a part of spirituality is the ability to live with the unknown - to accept the idea that nobody really knows about these matters, rather than accepting the implied authority of science (or scientism) in respect of something it really has no idea of. — Wayfarer
But traditions are there to be creatively used by individuals for self-education, development and inspiration; individuals are not there for traditions to use or dictate to, in the name, and for the interests, of authorities or powers, or to repress and subjugate under the aegis of orthodox totalitarian ideologies. — John
It's not my call nor my responsibility to enact this, but nevertheless I think that if people were able to objectively and honestly evaluate their condition, a very large amount of people wouldn't see the use in continuing - they would realize that reality has little to offer them. — darthbarracuda
About life, the wisest men of all ages have come to the same conclusion: it is no good. Always and everywhere one has heard the same sound from their mouths — a sound full of doubt, full of melancholy, full of weariness of life, full of resistance to life. Even Socrates said, as he died: "To live — that means to be sick a long time: I owe Asclepius the Savior a rooster." Even Socrates was tired of life. What does that prove? What does it demonstrate? At one time, one would have said (and it has been said loud enough by our pessimists): "At least something must be true here! The consensus of the sages must show us the truth." Shall we still talk like that today? May we? "At least something must be sick here," we retort. These wisest men of all ages — they should first be scrutinized closely. Were they all perhaps shaky on their legs? tottery? decadent? late? Could it be that wisdom appears on earth as a raven, attracted by a little whiff of carrion?
...
Judgments, judgments of value about life, for it or against it, can in the end never be true: they have value only as symptoms, they are worthy of consideration only as symptoms; in themselves such judgments are meaningless. One must stretch out one's hands and attempt to grasp this amazing subtlety, that the value of life cannot be estimated. Not by the living, for they are an interested party, even a bone of contention, and not impartial judges; not by the dead, for a different reason. For a philosopher to object to putting a value on life is an objection others make against him, a question mark concerning his wisdom, an un-wisdom. Indeed? All these great wise men — they were not only decadents but not wise at all. — Nietzsche
Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am,
Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary,
Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest,
Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next,
Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it.
Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with
linguists and contenders,
I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait.
...
These are really the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they
are not original with me,
If they are not yours as much as mine they are nothing, or next
to nothing,
If they are not the riddle and the untying of the riddle they are
nothing,
If they are not just as close as they are distant they are nothing.
This is the grass that grows wherever the land is and the water is,
This the common air that bathes the globe.
...
My final merit I refuse you, I refuse putting from me what I really
am,
Encompass worlds, but never try to encompass me,
I crowd your sleekest and best by simply looking toward you.
Writing and talk do not prove me,
I carry the plenum of proof and every thing else in my face,
With the hush of my lips I wholly confound the skeptic.
...
You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.
Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you. — Whitman
Walt Whitman, a kosmos, of Manhattan the son,
Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking and breeding,
No sentimentalist, no stander above men and women or apart from
them,
No more modest than immodest.
Unscrew the locks from the doors!
Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs!
Whoever degrades another degrades me,
And whatever is done or said returns at last to me.
Through me the afflatus surging and surging, through me the cur-
rent and index.
I speak the pass-word primeval, I give the sign of democracy,
By God! I will accept nothing which all cannot have their coun-
terpart of on the same terms.
Through me many long dumb voices,
Voices of the interminable generations of prisoners and slaves,
Voices of the diseas'd and despairing and of thieves and dwarfs,
Voices of cycles of preparation and accretion,
And of the threads that connect the stars, and of wombs and of
the father-stuff,
And of the rights of them the others are down upon,
Of the deform'd, trivial, flat, foolish, despised,
Fog in the air, beetles rolling balls of dung.
Through me forbidden voices,
Voices of sexes and lusts, voices veil'd and I remove the veil,
Voices indecent by me clarified and transfigur'd.
I do not press my fingers across my mouth,
I keep as delicate around the bowels as around the head and heart,
Copulation is no more rank to me than death is.
I believe in the flesh and the appetites,
Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me
is a miracle.
Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or
am touch'd from,
The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer,
This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds.
If I worship one thing more than another it shall be the spread of
my own body, or any part of it,
Translucent mould of me it shall be you!
Shaded ledges and rests it shall be you!
Firm masculine colter it shall be you!
Whatever goes to the tilth of me it shall be you!
You my rich blood! your milky stream pale strippings of my life!
Breast that presses against other breasts it shall be you!
My brain it shall be your occult convolutions!
Root of wash'd sweet-flag! timorous pond-snipe! nest of guarded
duplicate eggs! it shall be you!
Mix'd tussled hay of head, beard, brawn, it shall be you!
Trickling sap of maple, fibre of manly wheat, it shall be you!
Sun so generous it shall be you!
Vapors lighting and shading my face it shall be you!
You sweaty brooks and dews it shall be you!
Winds whose soft-tickling genitals rub against me it shall be you!
Broad muscular fields, branches of live oak, loving lounger in my
winding paths, it shall be you!
Hands I have taken, face I have kiss'd, mortal I have ever
touch'd, it shall be you. — Whitman
It's a beautiful thing to just dare to see with one's own eyes. Lots of folks may nod at that concept in the abstract, but a little later they will appeal some grand authority. This art conversation really is related to the rest of the thread. The imagination I was trying to share is all about the liberation of one's genuine feeling and perception and even about one's own voice as a writer. I know people who write well when it's nothing they want to publish. But they switch into solemn mode and lose their unique voices. Incidentally, that's one of the reasons I embrace this medium. No, it's not like they did it in the old days. The internet has opened up something new. (I also love good TV and rap, but I can imagine a resistance to these forms because they aren't yesterday's Shakespeare but today's.)Perhaps the most fruitful route was to look at the art itself, ignore the critics and see it's meaning, quite a pilgrimage. — Punshhh
Who goes there? hankering, gross, mystical, nude;
How is it I extract strength from the beef I eat?
What is a man anyhow? what am I? what are you?
All I mark as my own you shall offset it with your own,
Else it were time lost listening to me.
I do not snivel that snivel the world over,
That months are vacuums and the ground but wallow and filth.
Whimpering and truckling fold with powders for invalids, con-
formity goes to the fourth-remov'd,
I wear my hat as I please indoors or out.
Why should I pray? why should I venerate and be ceremonious?
Having pried through the strata, analyzed to a hair, counsel'd with
doctors and calculated close,
I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones.
In all people I see myself, none more and not one a barley-corn
less,
And the good or bad I say of myself I say of them.
I know I am solid and sound,
To me the converging objects of the universe perpetually flow,
All are written to me, and I must get what the writing means.
I know I am deathless,
I know this orbit of mine cannot be swept by a carpenter's
compass,
I know I shall not pass like a child's carlacue cut with a burnt
stick at night.
I know I am august,
I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself or be understood,
I see that the elementary laws never apologize,
(I reckon I behave no prouder than the level I plant my house by,
after all.)
I exist as I am, that is enough,
If no other in the world be aware I sit content,
And if each and all be aware I sit content.
***********************************************
These are really the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they
are not original with me,
If they are not yours as much as mine they are nothing, or next
to nothing,
If they are not the riddle and the untying of the riddle they are
nothing,
If they are not just as close as they are distant they are nothing.
This is the grass that grows wherever the land is and the water is,
This the common air that bathes the globe.
— whitman
You know the laughing thing, well it's the same with art, suddenly everything is art and you have to restructure what art means from a position of knowledge, aware of the futile struggling you were doing before the revelation, veiled in ignorance. — Punshhh
Now obviously the material states are all completely different - but the meaning is the same! Hence, meaning can't be reduced to material states. — Wayfarer
Maybe I'm a foolish optimist but I truly believe that if we broke down the man made divisions, we could see that we are one species and unite under that premise. — saw038
A great master says that his breaking-through is nobler than his flowing out, and this is true. When I flowed forth from God all creatures declared: "There is a God"; but this cannot make me blessed, for with this did I acknowledge myself as a creature. but in my breaking-through, where I stand free of my own will, of God's will, of all his works, and of God himself, then I am above all creatures and am neither God nor creature, but I am that which I was and shall remain for evermore. there I shall receive an imprint that will raise me above all the angels. By this imprint I shall gain such wealth that I shall not be content with God inasmuch as he is God, or with all his divine works; for this breaking through guarantees to me that I and God are one — E
Now, as this rose is a true rose to begin with, this nightingale always a true nightingale, so I am not for the first time a true man when I fulfil my calling, live up to my destiny, but I am a “true man” from the start. My first babble is the token of the life of a “true man,” the struggles of my life are the outpourings of his force, my last breath is the last exhalation of the force of the “man.”
The true man does not lie in the future, an object of longing, but lies, existent and real, in the present. Whatever and whoever I may be, joyous or suffering, a child or a graybeard, in confidence or doubt, in sleep or in waking, I am it, I am the true man.
Still far from myself, I separate myself into two halves, of which one, the one unattained and to be fulfilled, is the true one. The one, the untrue, must be brought as a sacrifice; to wit, the unspiritual one. The other, the true, is to be the whole man; to wit, the spirit. Then it is said, “The spirit is man’s proper essence,” or, “man exists as man only spiritually.” Now, there is a greedy rush to catch the spirit, as if one would then have bagged himself; and so, in chasing after himself, one loses sight of himself, whom he is.
...
It is different if you do not chase after an ideal as your “destiny,” but dissolve yourself as time dissolves everything. The dissolution is not your “destiny,” because it is present time. — Stirner
Well said. Philosophy (if it's loyal to Socrates at all) is going to try to give a "reasonable" account, as reasonable as possible.What philosophy is (or should be) about is finding the way to speak about these experiences which is most logical and in accordance with human experience generally. — John
This. Yes. Though I like Agustino, I think he's missing out on a notion of something that surpasses politics.What you are really valorizing is the enforcement of order by earthly authorities that arrogate to themselves the mandate of a divine authority. This idea is truly repugnant to any free spirit. — John