Patterns develop. Stimuli arriving in near-simultaneity become linked structurally. Impressions are formed, impressions in the physical structure of the brain, affecting the strength and reach of signal passage. The brain grows in sophistication, in connectedness. Basic if not simple functions, those coded for in DNA, are used as the building blocks of yet higher connections and functions. We bend the brain's capacity to detect visual features, like vertical, horizontal, and diagonal lines, into the ability to recognize a chair or a face. We feel pain, associate it with the visual and spatial attributes of the stovetop, and learn to avoid it with our fingers.
I'm still trying to figure out what I think about that. I started in February of 1998, studying physics at Miami University (Ohio), and soon after decided that I might as well pursue a dual math/physics major. Some years later, logistical practicality prevailed, and I chose to study only mathematics. I'm still skeptical that I ever did.
I get lost in a flesh-colored sea of mundanity, and feel powerless by virtue of membership. I may be awed by a feat of community, only to be horrified by the quickness of depravity. Hot and cold. Hidden somewhere in my DNA is whatever code whose execution makes me need community. I don't pretend to understand it, and I'm nearing the end of my too-cool aloofness toward the idea of sharing my concern with others, even putting theirs above mine. Each time I roll my eyes at Christian goodness expressed as a bumper sticker, I'm hoping someone sees it. I want to share my weak outrage, cleverly if possible.
The Shadow knows; and you don't want to. Conspicuous monsters aren't monsters. They're neighbors. This is why we still delight in dirty jokes; we all know their subtext, and can often predict their punchlines. We need these contexts, these distorting frames of awareness, to make sense of the world. We know we won't achieve parity of understanding and reality; our hypotheses will always need refinement. We accept that all our knowledge is approximation, and need it to be so.
It's quite daunting to have only yourself to rely upon for guidance toward purpose. It doesn't follow, however, that the truth need not be dire. Invoking fruitlessness or direness as illustrations or proof of absurdity would seem relevant only if we take as given a need for life, a purpose in it other than as a means to excrete and feed other life by dying. That effectively cuts to the heart of the issue, and begs the question of whether or not humanity exists to serve a designed purpose.
Two superficially unrelated blog posts caught the same glint in my eye. Herewith my earnest and hopefully readable attempt to create value by shredding their contexts.
My name is Daniel Black. I am on the internet in several places, including Twitter and Tumblr. I am a person. I am a father and a husband. I am was a university student of mathematics. I am a less formalized student of thinking, of philosophy, of writing, and of how to make decisions.
Continue reading about me if, you know, you're curious like that. It's okay; no one's watching. You could also subscribe to the RSS feed, if you swing like that.
