As I believe I said, The Apocalypse of the Self is too rich for me to blog about in any linear or organized manner, since pretty much every paragraph sends the sparks a-flyin' every whichaway.
Collision with an intelligent book makes us see a thousand stars.
Or sparks. I was about to say I wish all books were like this, but no, I'm relieved that this is not the case, because if the world were made of cheesecake, we could never even begin to digest it all.
I'm almost at the end, but I'll have to reread it at least once to wrap my melon around it (or it around my melon -- it's one or the other).
One can only reread what suggests more than what it expresses.
Suggestive and evocative are what it is. And I suppose it will evoke different things in different people, just like a person will do that to us.
Reading is the unsurpassed drug because it allows us not only to escape the mediocrity of our lives but even more so the mediocrity of our souls.
That's true. But hold on just a second -- who you callin' mediocre?!
Our opinion of a great book is the verdict with which the book judges us.
That's more like it: I'll settle for "not great" over mediocre. A Raccoon may be a Subgenius but he is also a supra-mediocretin. We're not just some postmodern NPC lo-fo utensil.
What else have we learned, besides my subgreatness?
Serious books do not instruct, but interrogate.
Waitwut? You're telling me I can't write a post about what I learned from the book, but what the book learned about me?
The Person of Christ is the chief interrogator.
Who asked you?
And you are under arrest.
Oh? For what crime?
You know better than to ask such a stupid question.
Existence is not a crime.
Oh? That's one way of putting it. Another way is to say that "existence means not to be God and so to be in a certain respect ineluctably in opposition to Him" (Schuon).
You know, some people even say that of all sins, that of existence is the greatest, since it implies separation from God, the principle of truth, love, and beauty.
Thank you, Petey. You can tell them for me that they are asses.
To sin is to "miss the mark." And the point, as have just demonstrated.
Men are divided into two camps: those who believe in original sin and those who are idiots.
The radical error -- the deification of man -- does not have its origin in history. Fallen man is the permanent possibility of committing the error.
You can deny what Nicolas just said, but this
relegates the sinner to a silent, gray universe, in which he drifts on the surface of the water, an inert castaway, toward inexorable insignificance.
We can never count on a man who does not look upon himself with the gaze of an entomologist.
Okay, okay, I get it. So, Gagdad awoke one morning from uneasy dreams and found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect. Is that what you want me to say? Can we end the interrogation?
No, we're going to have to hold you for further questioning. This is not the DOJ, and you're not Hunter.
The hunted is more like it. Or haunted
Oh, so you're the victimized utensil after all.
Go away and let me finish this post.
It is finished.
What's that supposed to--
Man does not find salvation in a reflective finding of himself but in the being-taken-out-of-himself that goes beyond reflection -- not in continuing to be himself, but in going out from himself. It means that the liberation of man consists in his being freed from himself and, in relinquishing himself, truly finding himself.... Man finds his center of gravity, not inside, but outside himself (Ratzinger, in Bailie).
Agreed. Can I go now?
8 comments:
...this ... relegates the sinner to a silent, gray universe, in which he drifts on the surface of the water, an inert castaway, toward inexorable insignificance.
Like the debris that floats on the surface of the pool, just waiting to either be sucked into the skimmer and filtered out, or unceremoniously scooped out with a big net.
Humanure for evolution.
--Freedom is not the goal of history but the material it works with.
--Freedom is not indispensable because man knows what he wants and who he is, but in order for him to know who he is and what he wants.
--The free act is only conceivable in a created universe. The universe that results from a free act.
--The permanent possibility of initiating causal series is what we call a person.
Person -> creation --> cosmos --> freedom --> history --> telos --> and back again. Happy intradependence deity!
Upon considering individualism, individuals, and respect for other individuals as well as our God-given right to abuse weaker individuals, I recalled the single greatest individual dump I ever created. It happened at a local Harbor Freight store.
The sheer physical size, the artistic beauty, and the feeling that I’d just accomplished something shockingly magnificent were unparalleled. The mass could’ve easily filled a gallon paint can. It all swirled up neatly and symmetrically like a giant Hersheys kiss. It even had a neat little termination loop on top.
I briefly recalled the largest individual I’d ever known, a 600-pounder named Wes Eggbert. It looked like something he would’ve done. Yet I only weighed a third of that.
Nothing had warned me, outside of a feeling of unusual fullness, and it all happened so fast that I’d forgotten the mid-poop flush. I briefly panicked when I realized there was no floor drain and that flushing could well flood the place. So my plan was to leave it sitting there while I rushed back to my car to fetch my phone.
Unfortunately, another individual had been waiting outside and immediately passed me to go inside and lock the door. I could hear the loud “OH MY GOD!” halfway to the exit door.
After I got into my car and drove off, I started perplexing myself with all the individual options I’d had available to me. I could’ve gone back with phone and begged “Please don’t flush! I want a picture of that.” But would I have been known as “the giant poop guy” henceforth? Would the individual managing the store have excluded me from shopping there henceforth with my picture placed upon their wall of shame?
Anyways and upon further reflection, it dawned on me that it isn’t the individualism which matters, but the kind of power an individual is allowed to wield against other individuals within a given cultural context that matters.
@ Nicolas - couldn't have said it better. Happy day to all the Raccoons out there!
A jazz-name player has a lot of self-assertion in the bureau, and it comes out long before, but this CD feels like there is a casually art pepper in the tranquility.
The directing is amazing. I met a good one. I borrowed a domestic version in the past, and I copied it to a CD-R and listened to it. (For capturing and baking, it is quite a bit.)
Becoming a CD, the deceased art was revived, and I fell into the illusion that I was blowing in front of me. Somehow, it is a separate take that is not enough, but
thanks for being a grandfather and recital.
Every time I listen to the song of The Last, it gives me a strange feeling that I can't say anything.
Nicolás --The permanent possibility of initiating causal series is what we call a person.
Always worth restating.
And so the Man told me: “Individualism operates best when forced to compete within a given structure of rules which may include forced cooperation.”
“But what about Rodger Goodell?” I asked. “The crowd boos him vociferously at every draft as per tradition” the Man replied.
“But what about the Washington Redskins/Football Team/Commanders?” I asked. “The Dan Snyders of the world come to realize they’re bleeding money and reputation and the DC elites persuade them to sell” the Man replied.
“But what about Jerry Jones?” I asked. “Well, he lives in a city of idiots and Jerry relieves them of the frustration they have trying to fit paper bags over ten-gallon hats by reminding them that they’re America’s Team, which gets them to settle down. Plus there’s a reality TV series on the way and I wouldn’t be surprised if we voted him POTUS someday. So the system works.”
I had nothing to say after that. I knew that Communist nations have no NFL and my dream of getting an expansion franchise called the Tulsa Trannies was a long ways off. And so I went back to grooming my peewee league boys.
Post a Comment