It’s morning in what could still be considered early May. I’m wondering if most authors of memoirs and certain wandering philosophical works imply that everything they’ve written in the same day, during the same hour. There is a notional permanence that flows from many works like this that I’ve read, a sensation that you’re not in something that took weeks or months to write, but something that is in fact a snapshot of a permanent sculpture inside the author’s brain. I believe, were I to edit this work to be such a way, there would not be very much text left. That’s because in a way this is a public diary. (Had to pause a drink a sip of coffee after writing that, it always takes me a long time to place a piece of writing, and it’s exciting to have done so. Also, I rarely write things that do not have titles to begin with, so this is unusual in that, at the time of this writing, there is no title.)
I’ve been thinking a lot about reason. There’s a good bit of absurdity in that prior statement. Trying to pick apart reason with thinking. But I’m attempting to be unreasonable about it, so I’m getting somewhere. Accepting Wittgenstein’s premise, but not Camus’ (life as a contextual pursuit rather than a slog through patterns) and trying to get after more Zhuangzi than Sartre (fishing and staying out of “problems” rather than getting after post-nauseous fame-immortality). Organizations have been in my way for a while; not the fact of them, but the character they’ve been playing in the upstairs theater. They’ve been the distressed character, the one in need of saving. They’ve been the bad one, the one in need of deconstructing and stopping from taking over the world. They’ve been the ego juice barista, the one that could fill up my never-full cup with guava-pineapple life satisfaction and victory points. Organizations might be a problem for lots of people, but they’re not a problem for me anymore. I’ve demoted them in the movie to “the one who makes coffee sometimes” (a minor role that unpaid interns do in exchange for their first film credit). Yes, I’ll still pay this character sometimes. Yes, I’ll still work “for” this character other times. But my odd crusade with, against, for, beside, under, above organizations is officially over.
I remain curious about humans being around, working with, and doing things for other living things (including humans). I’m interested in land, wilding it, and inviting humans to come (and to perhaps be wild there). I’m interested in wilding myself, living a spontaneous existence that is not in any way at odds with society, for society is not a problem, it’s an environment.
The prior paragraphs probably count as plot, depending on how well you’ve been following the theoretical plot so far. April becomes May, resentment of economists becomes meandering, uncaring walks around the University of Chicago (not that I’m on campus right now, but Pinochet and his advisors are mostly not alive anymore – and regardless, society is an environment). What about morality and justice? I expect to become a spontaneous practitioner of both, based on the context. My god, though, your relativism could lead you to do anything! I should hope so. We’ve all been consuming enough fiction of dystopian, utopian, and horrific varieties to know that anything could happen and a variety of responses could be morally justified. But without too much planning and intention, it’s hard to be too terribly personally terrible (though I’m sure it wouldn’t be hard to write some fiction about how this is not the case).
All is permeable by narrative, as a story consultant claimed with conviction long ago and many times over. I didn’t put “story consultant” in scare quotes because that at least seems better than many of the other types of consultant. And I expect that story consultant could be a satisfying way to adapt to an environment where I eventually run out of money, since I’m not prepositionally intimate with an organization right now.
So if narrative is a relatively universal solvent (though it won’t clear out your shower head if it isn’t flowing fully) then perhaps it’s kind of like God. Story-faith, the believe in the power of causes, effects, surprises, characters, prepositions, orders of events, and beginnings & endings. Humanity’s implied and perhaps actual religion, as demonstrated by pretty much every religion (and my beloved Zhuangzi is only captured in the stories he wrote, and yet a sage among sages among lazy fisherpeoples).
There once was a character. This character was excited about something, experienced challenges, refactored excitement with respect to the something, experienced joy. Wisdom and new excitements ensued. New challenges and refactorings. Additional joy. Time passes throughout.
Sparks, flame, rain, embers, new flame. Wildfires as life. Those who won’t ignite new material with cooling embers and those who won’t stand in the rain have chosen a narrative plateau on which to stand (and sometimes defend, against all enemies, real and imagined). The great-grandfather of the Dao, the man who didn’t know what the “Dao” was but wrote of it’s all-encompassing everythingness (and the implications of that all-ness) knew how to stand in the rain. I think it’s going to rain a little, this May morning in the Garden State. And I will stand among the trees, drive in a car, pedal a bicycle, engage in conversation, drink more coffee, and eat. A triumph. Perhaps there will be reverence. And there certainly won’t be problems.
Problems, it turns out, are a category of fire that had gasoline poured upon it by people with 401k’s for years. “Companies! Bring me plenty in my retirement! I rely on you creating problems, alleviating them for money, and making sure that they are never ‘solved’.” That’s the job of any given organization (including governments): to persist. And persistence requires a need from a group of people, who otherwise wouldn’t cede their autonomy or functions to a legal formula. And yet! These manufactured problems are optional. “I feel bored” can be a sensation that doesn’t have to lead to solving that problem with $9.99 going to the Netflix person. It doesn’t even have to be identified as a problem. There are some wonderful books on the joys and value of boredom. I highly recommend that particular refactoring.
Again though, a problem is one side of a stick, whose other side is a solution. These two concepts are the same stick, and while you’re buying that stick someone is also hitting you with it. Even if you break it in half to try and only keep the solution part, the stick just adapts and the broken side shifts to become half problem, half solution once more. And so to go beyond the double bind of the problem solution stick, one might read Zhuangzi. And Wittgenstein. But not, dear god not Nietzsche (you’ll end up building a stick factory and hiring thousands of people to beat thousands of other people with both sides of your sticks).
Roman Ryan 