Thursday, October 30, 2014
6870 In the New Testament there are the words theos and theotes. Translated as god and divinity (godness, godhood, godhead), theotes is the Form that makes any god be a god. And for Christians it is the one form-thing that appears as the Trinity structure. We pray to and petition god, not divinity. In fact we basically ignore divinity. It is just the background of all that is, including all the gods. Perhaps it is just a brightness or presence or, who knows, maybe love. It’s just there. Then again all the Forms are “just there”. We can stare at them if we want, but then we itch and we have to scratch. Ah life!
6869 The last few times I have been talking about the eternal existence of a face and its eternal return. You may accept my reasoning or you may reject it. For those who accept it, the logic is tight. For those who reject it, a different kind of pleasure awaits. Belief and disbelief are always a miracle, a gift, an eternal thing. I am here, however, going to talk about, not that face, but a mind that sees it as its own.
I look in the mirror and I see my face. I look out the window and I see the distant Himalaya. Am I somehow closer to or more united with my face (or brain) than with those mountains? No, I see no reason to think I am. Both are things that appear before my mind’s eye. The fact that I am the idea that this face is mine is irrelevant. It’s just one more intentional object. I am really no closer to my body than I am to yours. If mine vanished I would no doubt be seeing something else, maybe another body that seems to be mine, maybe not.
So is my mind eternal? What is the referent of that word “my”? I am thoughts. Is there a mind behind the thoughts that “has” them? There is a bare particular that exemplifies a thought and it seems that I am that. But then I am a different bare particular and the problem of continuity through change rears up and I have no answer to it questions of how. Still, I know that Time as a substance beyond the various appearances doesn’t exist and all the existents I find out and about hang in a timelessness. They do "hang on the cheek of night like a jewel in a rich Ethiop's ear.” All things, even “my” mind, come and go in incessant, still repetition. A blur. A hypnosis. Dream torque. He knows.
6868 Last time I wrote the Eternal Return of Form and particular in a timeless appearing as the opposite of nihilism. I had good arguments. But arguments are worthless to one who doesn’t want to believe. Few want to believe. Why?
Consider a young man, a beautiful Dorian. The threat of losing his beauty is ever present. Soon he loses it. He silently moans, he becomes resentful. He nurses his quiet fury. He tries to embalm himself in alcohol. But he could give up all that despair so easily and believe. Why doesn’t he? It is because he has fallen in love with the anger and resentment and infinite fury. He broods contentedly it seems. Yes, that is despair. Kierkegaard said that despair is to love that which you hate. It is so very seductive. If salvation were offered he would now refuse it. He has become poetic.
6867 I have often said that there are time relations, but no Time as an absolute substance that things appear in and then disappear. Likewise, there are spatial relations, but no one Space everything is in as in a container. Absolute Space and Time don’t exist. I am a complete relativist or relationist. Therefore, I believe certain other things because of that. Just how physicists see the whole affair in their Imaginarium is not my concern.
The Eternal Return. Consider a face. It is a structured thing. It has form. Consider a particular face with all its tiniest details, High Definition. It is that face. Once it was a baby’s face, now an adolescent, all too soon it will be old. The structure changes. Still, for all that it is one Form appearing as different arrangements. The Form, the various structures, the particularity of it, its being just that one.
Form and structure and bare particularity are all timeless. The appearing of Form as a certain particular and as a certain structure is also timeless, and though that particular shares space relations with other particulars, it is, in itself, placeless. There are no places in existence to be at.
Must a Form appear as a structure and a particular? Could it be isolated within itself unappearing? The Form and the appearing of it as structure, Form and fact, are two, not one; therefore, the last question is moot. Let’s suppose that a Form appearing as a structure and as a particular is a necessary existent, an eternal fact. Could it do that only at a certain time and place? Obviously not, if there are no moments and places in an absolute Time and Space. The appearing is necessary and timeless. That is the Eternal Return. The appearing and the disappearing and then the appearing and the disappearing are what the Form timelessly is. Its appearing is its disappearing. There is no non-existence for that Form’s appearing again and again and again in the present Presence.
Wednesday, October 29, 2014
6866 Strangely, before the wifi came back, I put down the word “Aestheticism” as a beginning that I might attract my muse. I too have always thought of myself as somehow aligned with the aesthetes. I (maybe esoterically) kill the natural boy with my piercing philosophical gazes that I might stare at his hovering Form. Think of St. Sebastian. So how should I explain it (once again) philosophically? All ontological contemplation is a transmutation.
I am neither a moralist nor a hedonist. I am a sort of priest who transubstantiates the world with the liturgical rhythms of my analytical gestures. Here’s my ontological take on the matter.
First I spy a victim. Actually the whole world is my victim, but I wait for someone or some thing different. I wait for the muse. I wait for hunger, the charism. I shift from Aristotelian substance logic to the predicate calculus. So, instead of saying the boy is a dark-eye beauty, I say there is an x such that x exemplifies the Form Boy and the Form Dark-eyed and the Form Beauty. In other words, I break the ordinary boy apart into many ontological pieces. Why do I do that? It is because an ordinary boy with ordinary properties is temporal and so ephemerally only here. Those ontological pieces, though, are atemporal, ever beyond and fixed. I move from the everyday to timeless, placeless Eternity. It pleases me to do that. It’s why I do philosophy.
If I look at your picture, I see what I will call a, the just that one. A is striking in its presence. Next I see that a is joined to a certain visible Form V1. That Form is also a “just that one” though it is different from a. Next I see that V1 exemplifies the Form of Boy and also the Form of Beauty. If I think of some guy sitting at the other end of my correspondence, I think of an ordinary person. But if I break him apart as I just did, then he is no longer ordinary, but timeless things swirling together in a timeless unity. Now then, if I think of a different boy, b, who is also beautiful, then I merely have to change a to b, change V1 to V2, and keep the Forms of Boy and Beauty that are exemplified by both V1 and V2.
So, after all that cutting analysis, what is left of the ordinary boy? Nothing here. He has been transmuted into the tight unity of eternal things. And eternal things always and forever reappear and then disappear. Heartbreak. Ontological analysis will kill you. Two boys ontologically one in the Form of Boy which is within the Form of Beauty. But the ordinary eye sees none of that. (My muse may have been a little sleepy and not so coherent.)
Ah, V1, you are exquisite.
Ah, V1, you are exquisite.
6865 I write the most abstract. No particular Form interests me. I fly away. The Form is exemplified by this and that. Again and again and again. Repetition. Endless repetition. What’s the point? Nothing.
How to define the indefinite article “a, an”. Any, every, all, some, none. A few, this and that, whatever. We are nowhere and everywhere but maybe somewhere. Else, other, neither one is what I want. I write a boy, the boy, no boy at all, just The Boy, which is no thing, but it is a Thing. A Thing is nothing here. Nonetheless, it is something in another Place.
So why the strong Capital Letters for these nothings here? They repeat. And the heart aches. We are flying where there is no air. And we suffocate. But the dizziness is slightly exhilarating. Or we think it might be. And who is this “we”? Capital Letters boggle the mind into a hypnotic almost.
The early Logical Analysts worried the indeterminate, the general, the everything not pinned down. They finally gave up. Some decided it was a matter of learning certain repetitive behavior, nothing more. Everything could be explained by referring to sets of definite, concrete, material things. Then sets proved to be impossible to define and a deeper giving up set in. That’s where we are now. I persevere. I walk the streets. A boy appears. The same Form that has always appeared. No one in particular. I fly. I am in the indeterminacy of aestheticism. A slight nausea. A twinge in the heart. That long road ahead.
The gods use me to build word-hotels, then spend the night. Let’s be Peeping-Toms.
6864 Aestheticism. I could of course see the boy as an ordinary earthly being with dreams and dread and questionable desires, all the things that move so quickly through a boy’s head and groin. But that one has held our attention for too long. I’m after an impish spirit-boy, perhaps a jinn. That, I need not tell you, is nowhere in the modern world. But it may be in fantasy that is so popular today. The problem with fantasy is that it is only fantasy, not real. Or is it? I’m after the real, just as every lover is. Lovers are tired of their imagination; they want something hard. Therefore, the real spirit boy.
I am a philosopher, a logical analyst. I take the world apart and stare at it. I’m looking for something to pierce my mind. That ordinary earthly boy is transformed into logical entities. Timeless, placeless Forms. I stare. I come undone. I have been had by the really real. I have done analysis. The Boy obliges me to return ever again. I obey. The moralizers object. Beauty now has me in thrall.