M. John Powell (MJP) from England ………….. writes on Wittgenstein’s philosophy.

*

All our differences rejoice the same illusion.

Protagoras: “Man is the measure of all things …” 

* 

A hidden implication lurks in the undergrowth, with the birds, the tortoises, the hares, the bees, the flowers, the imagination is the measure of all things (therefore) - … In the modern world this, however: the imagination’s improvidence is a uselessness, the correlate of the appendix – better to have none.  Science seems to have proven how whatever of the actual world seems, must necessarily be, is, so – an analytically undeniable condition, for the imagination is imaginary.  It has extracted this common sense understanding and cleared up its obscurity into what appears to be the now self-evident light of rational perception.  The imagination is imaginary.  What more obvious fabulation can there be?  But on the other hand, if the imagination is real too – what?  Suppose.  The imagination is like the suspending filament of the Sword of Damocles – threatening yet also preventing … allowing for the breath that we steal away waiting for the sword. For our imaginings are not real.  How long can we continue pretending that the world is otherwise? 

Reverse this argument for a moment.  From the point of view of a sort of absolute history, which is to say from a religious point of view well, not so.  Of course.  In these terms, historically, it would appear to be that religion saves us from this dilemma because we do not imagine God - since God must imagine us … There is the compelling invocation of the Deity, confirming the independent reality of what would otherwise be merely the imaginary kingdom of human fantasy.  To show that humanity’s place is not merely imaginary but actual to reality we construct a world of other-worldly devised human ends.  These are the ends set by God Himself in His mystery. 

I – the person writing this blog – do not think that the invocation of a God is needed, if the decision is made to look again and thus witness the extent of the dust and dispossession of an ‘actuality’ in any sense of the world, how it subtends as human misery, seeing it as it is.  I think that freedom lies elsewhere – no need for the finite possession of a concrete knowledge.  But the reasons for being persuaded in this way are uncomfortable.  They are to do with the recognition that humanity is a protean puzzle, not lost in infinity but in a cul de sac.  Only so can values can be understood.  I am not going to give all the clues away …

*********

Most of my writing is kind of place-holding.  (See ‘Writing on’).  Writing is a hammer and anvil.  But you need lots of reflexive practice taps of the hammer before you can deliver the blows that will shape the thing into actuality.  Most of what goes on here is just noise in the smithy.  I’m thinking.   That is all!