
Wissen und Werden:
Scharfe Krallen und ziellose Gefallen
(Knowing and Becoming:
Sharp claws and purposeless pleasure)
July 27-31, August 3; Two-thousand-and-eight years after our most famous human sacrifice
This work is a paradox and and contains its quantum of hypocrisy. It relies on the relation of words and signs, an unfortunately confused but necessary method of communication. This treatise is an impetus to drive one to pasture with a blow.
Let us, for the moment, be practical and allow for the common way of speaking of things. That is, let us pass over the inadequacies of language, with its implicit yet nefarious subject and object, and understand what this is about. It is about the futility of knowing and the joy of becoming.
Knowing and becoming: one might believe from such a title that this would be, at least partially, a work of epistemology... But then one would be (unfortunately) disappointed. What can we know? What do we know we know? Such mental circles leave us tired and unsatisfied. We might as well beat our heads into a wall repeatedly; at least that would leave us satiated - that is, unconscious. I would rather have a prod than a priori.
One might also be deluded into thinking this is a work on philosophy - it is, rather, anti-philosophy. Instead of fighting fire with fire, why not try water? Metaphysics consist of misinterpreted metaphors from those unfortunate enough to try to communicate their experiences; teleology arises from the confusions known as 'God' and 'self'; ethics are the pronouncements of the power-hungry controllers (another paradox: the highest value is valueless-ness); eschatologies are the pronouncements of the vindictive & fearful. My metaphysic: no categories, no labels; my ethic: no values; my eschatology: each moment is an end in itself, especially for your precious 'self.' Purpose, self, agency, virtue, right & wrong - these are the delusions of a typical human thought-system.
This treatise is, in a sense, a call to action but not to political action, let alone moral or spiritual action, whatever those mean. Don't think, don't speak, don't calculate, don't contemplate, don't justify, don't criticize, don't explain - act. These are all reactions - if one is to re-anything one should simply rejoice. We are no different from a a virus, a plant, or a wolf - so let us sharpen our claws and go whatever way without delusions.
Satiation, comfort, unchangeability - these are the marks of a human philosophy, but are they practical? Are they realistic? But what is 'reality,' or rather, who cares? Utility is more useful than debates about reality, but even utility presupposes some kind of end, some kind of target, some kind of purpose. Yet life itself is no more important than death - in fact, it is meaningless without it. The play of power requires no purpose, let alone a guiding principle or an agent.
The most egregious error of the earth was the emergence of those called 'philosophers.' They do nothing but reveal their own implicit beliefs, their own prejudices. "Cogito ergo sum?" Thought is not evidence of being or a self - it is evidence of thought, but tautologies are boring (nor do they sell books well). "The unexamined life is not worth living?" That surely sounds like the chastisement of one who has wasted much time in examining (psychologists might call it 'effort justification'!). "Beauty is truth, truth beauty?" But what if our truths are terrible & ugly? "Libertie, egalitie, fraternitie?" True liberty - each constellation of action expressing its full potential - is at odds with that leveling force of the poor & wretched known as equality. "Act only according to that maxim whereby you can at the same time will that is should be a universal law?" („Handle nur nach derjenigen Maxime, durch die du zugleich wollen kannst, dass sie ein allgemeines Gesetz werde.“) What... Act as if one was a tyrant of conduct at all moments? And what if one's maxim is that maxims are prison cages of the free & spontaneous spirit?
Which thinker is bold enough to recognize that thought is a useless circle? There is no specific thought or set of thoughts (nor is there a specific action) that is worth anything, that justifies anything, that satiates anything. And so we should lay these things to rest in their rightful place - the garbage heap of history.
What is it to Know thyself? To Be thyself? Is there a true and steady essence to portray? There is nothing but a flux of relations, a becoming and by-going, although constrained by certain unavoidable necessities (e.g. one's human body). But, subjectively, one can do nothing but cast away the cloaks that conceal and conflate - social roles, repetitive relationships, philosophical dispositions... that is, any attachment to anything. One's true being, that nebulous concatenation which is the self-and-environment interaction, can only spring forward spontaneously without thought, without consideration, without adherence to idea, without 'philosophy.' No masks are necessary for this performance - one is known through acting and each quantum of self-knowledge is out-dated the instant it forms. Ego, ergo, is a fancy fraud in the face of the power-play of things.
Becoming trumps being; action trumps thinking; flux trumps stagnation - but these are less helpful aphorisms than revelations of reality, things as they are if one would look beyond convention. There are no laws beyond human mind-excretions: The ought's are infinitely more mendacious than the are's, and even those are misleading (and eventually outdated). Only when one has given up everything does one gain everything - that is, there is no thought of gain or loss.
Now let us return to language, although we have been steeped in it all this while (hence this work's hypocrisy). Language is to be left to logicians and traders of goods: Experience cannot be bought or traded and it is exactly because of this that experience cannot be spoken of (without stepping over it & on it). It is precisely when we communicate ourselves that we forget ourselves, that we falsify ourselves. Language is to be left to critics and excuse-makers: but we need no excuse for our art - that is, our life. Words incorrectly assume a steadiness of meaning & project a false sense of stability onto this flux of relations known as 'self.' We contain multitudes, are multitudes, and so the play of paradox & the cacophonous euphony of contradiction are then language's cure for itself.
Anyone with an aesthetic sense knows it applies to more than just art, for the world is a work itself (though I don't posit a doer behind this deed nor beauty beyond our interpretations - that is, 'in itself'). One reacts to art in the same way to people: with vanity. They reflect facets of ourselves and so 'ugly' people (in action & in form) and 'ugly' art are reminders of our own potential for idiocy, for weakness. Beauty is that which reveals ourselves to ourselves in the most triumphant way - hence the beauty of strength in cruelty & destruction, the beauty of far-reaching thoughts in boundlessness, the beauty of over-fullness in extravagance, the beauty of simplicity in poverty.
Ugliness is the natural interpretation of & reaction to those things we wish to trample, and yet we are told to love all equally, even our enemies... Only if this is the love of a gardener in tearing out the weeds to help the flowers - but the weeds cry 'savagery!' and 'injustice!' Only if this is the love of benevolence and mercilessness being coterminous, being contained in one action. And so what is beauty to me is often cruelty to you.
"I have willed it!" or in more scientific terms "I have caused it!" Such are the fables of modern interpretations of things - the 'I' that caused but especially causation itself. Causality can only exist in artificial circumstances - that is, in your mind's contrivances. No one thing can cause another thing: what caused the first thing to cause? Shall we negate or ignore the setting which allowed this to happen? Only in an isolated vacuum could one somewhat rightfully speak of a cause, but there are no vacuums in the universe, there is no isolation: all things are in a continuum - conditioned by each other, or rather by itself. Only when we do violence to the world - that is, when we slice one facet from another & pretend things to be alone with each other - does the idea of causation arise. The thought or feeling of willing is no evidence of agency, but rather evidence of a misunderstanding - our "internal facts" are falsities. A useful explanation need not be based in reality - more often it is based in convenience. Some may argue that this strips man of his dignity, of his virtue, of his responsibility... yet one cannot take away something which was never there to begin with.
The soul is the essence of one's being, so people have said - now that word is often replaced with 'consciousness' as if this is more convincing. This modern-day 'soul' is not one's essence, it is the reflection on the surface of the water with infinite & unfathomable depths - it is more of a petal than a seed. Consciousness is an evolutionary appendage, adeptly able at confusing itself with 'explanations.' There is nothing immovable, stable, or essential about consciousness, let alone 'eternal.' But why can we not be satisfied in being a ripple? The eternal self can only be an identification with all things - but then there is no self left over as one thinks of it.
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