Beyond Philosophy

ὁ ἄνθρωπος μικρὸς κόσμος   The first horizon for human action is so small and subtle that we often forget to notice it as we age, particularly if we age well in good company. It appears clearer to the babe, the aged, the hermit, the unrequited lover, and the invalid sick unto death. Many ancient peoples cultivate rituals and mythology whose purpose is to mark it, especially in moments of mortal peril or moral confusion. What is this horizon? We might call it the intimate  or the personal . Max Stirner would identify it as the province of the Only One ( der Einzige ), and insist that all our other horizons necessarily collapse into it. Gendün Chöphel, the renegade Tibetan monk, agrees with this uncompromising outlook when he denies our ability to possess valid knowledge ( pramāṇa ). What do we have apart from this? Contingent knowledge. Consensus. The first and closest forms of contingent knowledge are those that arise in the evolving collection of circumstances I eventually call m

πάντα ῥεῖ Human life is movement. From one breath to the next. From cradle to grave. From famine to feast. From war to peace, and back again. Beyond ourselves, we see that other life moves too, in ways that often remind us of ourselves. As we move, we inevitably discover different kinds of motion. I am going to separate two kinds here: conscious and unconscious. Some movement we engage accidentally, without thinking or planning. This movement is unconscious. Other movement comes about with some intention from us: a will to act or react, a choice. This movement is conscious. Unconscious movements are prior to the conscious. A child within the womb is already moving, even before it is a child. Once born, it continues to complete most motions with reflexes that are called  autonomic  from our observation that they do not require conscious decision as a matter of course. From these unconscious motions--among them, out of them, alongside them--deliberate actions arise, as flowers f

Over the years, I have read too many books and encountered too many people. In the process, I have learned and failed to learn quite a few languages.  Drawn to the library, I fell into the trap known as school, where I have been plagued with exams, degrees, and administrators, who expect me to lecture and then set exams for other students so that tuition may rise forever, or at least until they retire. No surprise, then, that my mind teems with a thousand strange thoughts run amok. The burden of these essays is to catch and tame those wild ideas, or at least to put them in some tolerable sort of order. My core insights are few and relatively simple. (i) An essential characteristic of life is the creation and exchange of information. Babies cry. Parents yell. Dogs bark. All of them tell you something. Are you listening? Can you read the signs of the times? Watch that pot on the fire. It will boil in time. (ii) Life always produces more information than any individual or group can