Back to Edmondson. Where were we?
Yes, right before he started hearing voices.
That’s where it gets funny.
The medical reports are sketchy at best, and you can only guess what those mountebanks mis-diagnosed crudest in those days. The average ration of pharmaceutical drugs (bromine, morphium) you were subscriped to for a slight headache should have been enough to explain all mental problems Edmondson might have had. Maybe he heard voices. Maybe he was under some spell, maybe he just had a good high. Nothing of that would have mattered all that much. But not in Edmondsons perspective, you see? He chose another option, and it is essential to understand the why to it. He couldn’t be mad. He couldn’t be subject to insanity, after all those years of brilliance. So those voices must have been real. But he couldn’t pick the alternative either. He wouldn’t recognize some kind of spiritual presence haunting him, some kind of psychic connection to paraphysical entities beyond the scientific. He had fought hard enough for that line, after all. So he went for a third road, and it’s a wild one. If sorcery and empirical science are two realms in disjoint, and Edmondson was not under some spell, well, certainly there must be a scientific explanation for the continued presence of transcending wisdom in his mind. In order not to be mad, he had to seek sanctuary in scripture, in writing, in science. He had to write himself into the discourse of his time, a pastiche of animistic occultism, psycho-physiological mesmerism and natural philosophy. Only he went further, he pushed the distinction mark to it’s limits, which sounds something like: Almost EVERYTHING must be technology. From here on, his notes are getting sketchy, the handwriting indecipherable for pages, but what he follows up with is a crude blend of early magnetic theories about human brains emitting fields of “nerve vibrations”, a lot of negligent guesses about the nature of aetherical motion (which would be disproven to exist, some ten years later) delusional yet quite poetic justifications, and a bottom line that the whole universe must be some kind of machine. Since it’s not magiqal in nature. And, yes, he could talk to it (or it to him, he isn’t quite decided).
So why, you ask, haven’t I heard about this before? To the public knowledge, Edmondson was some crazy bastard – but I’m positive I’m one of not too many people who actually read how far gone he was, in his later days. The reason this wasn’t published, anywhere, is that Edmondson, in his clearer moments, was bright enough to surmise it could destroy everything he strived for if he compromised his reputation further (when my voices wear of, I also find them quite suspect). His friends and co-workers were kind enough to not let the word out about his occasional phases, even after his death.
Where am I going with this?
I just don’t think it’s that much of a story.
As I said, usually when I’m consuming certain substances, I am hearing thunder-ridden voices of mighty snowflower gods as well. I know it’s just because I’m on some chemical, which is meant to manufacture exactly that effect on my brain. There are other options to interpretation. Those Fre’mon native tribes up in the desert would have quite a different (and less reductionistic) opinion on certain “holy substances”. But I have my historical background, my story I can work with, and I think it’s a cool one. Edmondson could only choose from the discourse at his disposal, and that was that stupid world 200 years back. He himself strived to partake in it’s construction, by discerning representation terms. He was stuck within his own story, see. The choices he had were all well within that story, within the discourse of his time. Whatever his later experiences could have felt like: The only way to express them – at all! – was within the symbols, discussions and public truthmaking processes at work, more so: The only way to even get conscious about it is getting conscious about it “as” something. And that crucial “as”, guys, that’s highly informed by historical processes. The story must go on. So, you see, in a way I’m quite positive that Edmondos wasn’t crazy at all, that he was in fact influenced by forces outside of his mind. Only I wouldn’t call them para-psychological. Sociologists named it Discourse, psychoanalysts the Master Siginificant or the Big Other. I just call it words.
And that’s where it all comes together. To differentiate whether someone is crazy or sane, you need a criterion which has to be put into place at some point. Dualities originate from within experiences, they are not around from the beginning. Everything feels “as” something, and our consciousness and subconsciousness exchange a jolly handshake in order to pick and choose the symbols, stories, motives and categories at hand to fill this “as” with some meaning. Words forge realities, or rather: The criterion between reality and fiction glides only in the slipstreams of words. I am casting here, see, casting with my flaming typewriter, and that’s all you need to know about Alfred Edmondson.
I have to remind myself to give that line to my lawyer.
I’ll be back once I have something to say, worthy of my enchanting attention. Literally.
I am not Fiction
Baruch Caan.
Ah, once more back in these familiar electrific waters. My dear Baruch, did you miss me? I would have loved to continue “observing” your posts, but I fear I was… indisposed for some days. Ah well, duty has a way of calling, does it not? It did for you, after all. Edmonson, Genius or Madman? Hah! And sometimes, more pleasurable pursuits must wait while duty is satisfied.
Now then, what have you left us with? Again, you’re getting better. Who could know that the epistemological mess that you point out to us so nicely still exists? Why, anyone who looks, but few will. Even now we find mixtures and messages that are beyond our ability to explain, which require new methods of thought. DUF censors would fail at this, your personal little writing field, I am now willing to tell you. They would feel suspicious, and rightly so, but as that is what they are paid to feel, and because they are – hah! – only human, they will dismiss it as paranoia and leave you in peace. Poor damned souls!
But why would I tell you this, if I wish to keep you sharp? Because we both know that it will make no difference. If one of them has a bad day, it might be your end. And it goes without saying that the DUF has access to more… discerning eyes. But this is well-trodden ground, Baruch, ground we both know well, trampled once more solely for the benefit of those who observe us in turn.
Let us return instead to that snarl of paradigms of thought, that mess that prevents us from understanding the world around us, that… yes, that comic strip boundary, to call back to your musings on Bison. You write that Edmonson had the strength of mind and focus to cut through that and mark distinctions between things that had been indistinguishable. And all of a sudden, magique was an exclusive club that you didn’t REALLY need to enter anymore, because this “other” magique could do the job too. The great equaliser! What a beautiful thought, except for the magique users.
And then, of course, Edmonson went insane, heard voices, but chose against believing he was insane. Made patently absurd claims, trying to explain even magique with his strange new technology, and only just succeeded in holding onto the gains he had made. Now isn’t that interesting? Especially in the context of who had suffered most from those gains?
What’s also funny is the way you write this all down as though it were fact. But Baruch, although you have chosen remarkably strong weapons to fight with, you’re still on a losing side at this point – you know as well as anyone that fact is what most people believe. If magique is fundamentally different from science, then that is fact as long as you can keep people convinced of it. The DUF decides what is fact and what is not. And as to what really happened? Well, that’s a different question, now, isn’t it? Let me put it this way. Your story of an ailing, maybe-insane Edmonson is as much construction as any inspid TV special in which he dies like some beloved grandfather, surrounded by those who love him. So why choose this particular story?
Why not? After all, it’s all about the hidden meanings, those paradigms which haven’t caught on just yet. Wordflowers, and what they conceal in their hearts when their petals open. You tell a tale of a genius who understood more of the world than his contemporaries, then you describe how he brought change and was in turn brought low. And you blame the voices he heard on that great unknown, word. Clever.
Any true scientist knows the form of parabola. And the most important point (if I may be a little informal) in a parabola is its vertex, the place where everything is in balance and one thing becomes the other. “Word”. A collective unconscious, a collective pressure. Whether that be real pressure from users of magique on an unprotected genius or the pressure that genius puts on himself in his own mind. The pressure of listening ears and reading eyes scrutinising one’s work – and evaluating – or just that dam of inspiration almost bursting.
And if one man was pressured so hard in breaking the paradigms of his time, will another also be? Now we look more closely and see references to the science of the mind, the way things work, and we learn ever more about you, Baruch, from your articles. You strive to show us what you have become conscious of, your “as”, and many squint, and wonder, and find you and compliment you on your “funny little stuff”. But some stop, and look, and see. Your very obliqueness is your most important characteristic. Drawing that comparison between yourself and Edmonson is good, too – who would not think that arrogant and dismiss it? But if one didn’t, one might wonder who you fear, and what voices you might one day be hearing in your head. And hidden behind that, yes, a little arrogance all the same, but this type doesn’t lessen the meaning of the comparison.
And isn’t it funny that magique can now be controlled by science? Isn’t it funny that macry’s properties have been understood, and turn-masks proliferate, and all these other little factors that come together? Doesn’t that imply a certain paradigm shift all by itself? But this one is one-sided, the people with the power are holding onto it themselves and haven’t allowed it all free rein to the country. And one blogger among many writes of his own paradigm shift, voices his thoughts, and the DUF listens. And he in turn fears the voices that may come haunting him. But those he thinks he has tamed, those voices from bottles and powders and herbs, those he holds up. Voices responding to voices responding to voices. You could almost call it Discourse, but some of those voices have brought guns to the discussion.
You haven’t taught me anything yet, Baruch, but I have learned some. Let’s see whether that will change.
Again a warm and kind hello to all of you.
Well, it has been a while since my first comment here. I wish I could say I was merely so absorbed by the exceedingly sophisticated and intricate “call-and-response”-dialogue evolving between Mr. Caan and An observer, I would have felt it to be quite insensitive to intrude. I wish I could say, I just didn’t feel the need nor audacity to reply or comment. I wish.
Reading this first comment of mine again, I now can but wonder at the flatulence present throughout, but first and foremost evident in the last footnote about my supposedly secure line.
Pride comes before the downfall, as the saying goes, and hubris did indeed strike a hard blow.
It struck in the personification of the DUF, who had been tracking my every step in fictionnet since — well, that is only one of the multitude of things I cannot grasp presently. What I can deduce, however, is the fact that it could not have been simply a brute-force attack, as my line was running over an array of dedicated proxy servers encrypted with an 512-bit-cypher-algorithm. And yes, I did have macrys. Only two, but they sufficed to erase my last doubt about the security of my home. I apologize for these technicalities, but I currently struggle very hard to account for the events that followed, and where and how I was exposed.
It must have been an instance of social engineering.
From what you might have gathered about my person up to now, you can perhaps imagine how this constitutes the by far most unsettling aspect about my present situation to me. Yes, leaving almost all my dear belongings behind — not to speak of all my technical devices –, moving and sleeping in gutters, having to nourish myself on garbage, is very distressing indeed. But most distressing is to know that the necessary cause for this situation to have come about is a — maybe minor but nonetheless drastic — glitch in my own personal conduct. The conditions of present times do not forgive negligence, however minuscule. It was not the DUF who compromised my situation, they were just the catalyst. It was myself who gave away the compromising information.
To become aware of the fact that it was you who drew the hairline crack in your own enclave, which would inevitably widen to become the gaping abyss to swallow it all, that it was you who ran a sharply pointed cone through the perfect hermetic sphere of your personal Tusculum, that it was you who destroyed your own world — .
And yet, worst of all, your inability to find a single sustainable evidence in your recollection about what this hairline crack, what this sharp cone could have been.
It was an early morning — I won’t give the exact date and time, I learned this much from the events — when the system of microwave motion detectors and infrared heat sensors I had installed around the building I was living in received enough signal to trigger an alarm. A glance at the monitor of my night vision security camera gave me certainty.
I had to run.
I want to spare you the boring details of my flight, as you certainly had your good share of tales like these — considering DUF policies at the moment — and I feel I’ve occupied enough space already with this whole out-of-context balderdash about my person and situation. Only this much: I found refuge. And obviously there is a secure fictionet-connection.
Now, grant me one last paragraph. You might already have wondered, why in the world would I write all these insights into my psychological and environmental situation here, on an on-line column the DUF is most definitely monitoring very closely? Well, I indeed want them to read this. A Grand Ouvert is certainly the most interesting of game plays, is it not?
So here is my trump:
The most unpredictable consciousness is the one whose very foundations of self-assertion have been shaken to the core.
This here observer
[Although somewhat obsolete after the mentioned events, I decided to keep this alias out of — well, yes, nostalgia — and as a cordial tip to the hat in the direction of An observer.]
_________________________________________
Now, I rejoice in the prospect of finally bemusing myself again not with running, but with reflecting!
The views held by both Mr. Caan and An observer can, without too much hassle, considered to belong to the sphere of a certain radical constructivism or discursivism. It is not utterly surprising to find wordsmiths — if you do not mind this denominator — believing in the word as the “vertex point” as An observer put it quite beautifully, i must admit.
Let me reiterate the central arguments of the above commentators. Mr. Caan asserts the greatest invention of Alfred Edmondson to have been the differentiation between a scientifically informed and a magiqally informed discourse. An observer counters, this would only hold true as long as the DUF maintains this discursive figuration because, certainly, “fact is what most people believe”. I might return to the difference between fact and truth later, as it lies at the heart of the problem under consideration here. What both commentators have in common, however, is the ‘apotheosis of discourse’ — it is amusing to see magiqal thought burrow its way through assumed scientific/rationalistic world views. “Words forge realities”, and if there is no Supreme Author to enunciate the words anymore — Mr. Edmondson surely did his part in the murder — then it has to be society, “public truthmaking processes” or the DUF. “But we need our archimedal point!” I hear you shout. Well, do we?
There are probably several paths worth taking in arguing towards an ontological* — not merely discursive — difference between a scientific and a magiqal universe. But as the subject matter at hand are indeed words, I chose the path that seems both appropriate and sufficient to create a sustainable interjection.
In a magiqal universe, there exists no difference between the word and the thing it denominates. The thing and the word are one, or more precise: they share the very same ontological status. So, by uttering (or maybe only thinking) a certain sequence of words, the magician is able to act upon the things the words ‘belong’ to.** This is the true speech act that changes the world — not only the social, but the physical world.
Let us assume the magician that casts a spell, generally changes the physical world just as the labourers who built King’s Cradle. The labourers use mechanical energy according to the formula W(ork)=P(ower)·T(ime). The magicians magiqal energy accomplishes by far more work using considerably less power in almost no time. Moreover, mechanical energy follows the rule of spatial and temporal limitation. Magiqal energy transcends space and time.
So then what did Mr. Edmondson do? With first steam and then electrificy he discovered other systems*** of energy that follow the very same basic formula as the mechanic energy. But one of the most important aspects of the common reception of electrificy was that its power is not visible, only the work it accomplishes. With it, he could account for phenomena once attributed to magique. And he could build apparatuses using these new systems of energy. They became ever more complex and intricate until they seemed to execute breathtaking amounts of work with almost no (not visible!) power in almost no time, thus seemingly approximating again the magiqal energy of the magicians.****
Coming back to the question of words and discourse, Mr. Edmondsons work thus drove a sharp wedge between the world of the things and the world of words and symbols as others did before and after him. He severely tackled the then common notion of the unity of world and word. But what did finally accomplish this separation between reality and discourse? Well, yes, this is what I grant my preceding commentators: it was discourse itself. A snake biting its tail? Yes, certainly. Infinite regress? Only if you stay solely in the realm of the epistemic.
In a scientific universe, there exists a clear boundary between the world of the things and the world of the words and symbols. The latter became also known as the world of representation. And so there where those who looked at the world of the things and those who looked at the world of representation. And the world of representation became more and more detached and indifferent to the world of things and vice versa. The world of representation was considered to be an intricate network of systems of meaning, and each and every word and symbol and its meaning was indeed solely defined through its relation to all the other words and symbols and not at all through their relation to the thing they referred to. It was an arbitrary and temporary relation, after all, was it not? And the system of utterances emerging through and in the network of systems of meaning became known as discourse.
To conclude, the deduction from this part of the argument is the different ontological status of words, symbols and their enunciation in the magiqal and the scientific universe respectively.
But already in Alfred Edmundsons times the question arose: is it possible, that our world of representation determines how we see the world of things? Is there possibly no final Truth? As time went on and science advanced, evidence hardened for those who looked at the world of things, that indeed — in very special cases, certainly, but nonetheless — even the things themselves depend on and change according to how we look at them. HA!
And now enter stage the wordsmiths and saving the unity of word and world formerly present in the realm of the ontological to the realm of the epistemic! Fact and truth are one! Now that is a neat little twist, is it not?
Polemics aside, what is my stance here? Well, considering the aforementioned archimedal point, I tend to think it is quite variable and definitely dependent on the given context. In comparing the magiqal to the scientific universe, to take the concept of discourse — which itself could only evolve through the separation of world and word — as the archimedal point for the investigation, and then come to the conclusion it was a “stupid world 200 years back”, does not really seem to be astonishing at all. Mind you, I will not deny a considerable increase in knowledge since then nor question the principles of scientific inquiry. But when through this concept the very kind of thought it was used to condemn creeps back in — that is where reflective thought has to stay alert at all times.
Considering myself somewhat a wordsmith — if I may be so bold — this warning is addressed to myself more than to anyone else.
This here observer
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*Any true and honest constructivist will flinch heavily at this word — another evidence for my argument?
**These metonymical and synechdochal relationships in the magiqal universe are not limited to things/words or more general things/symbols, but make up the whole fabric of this world. A lock of hair, properly used, can influence it’s owner, a poison, properly treated, can cure the symptoms it causes.
***Mind the difference between ‘systems’ and ‘forms’ of energy. Thermal energy is a form of energy that can appear in different systems of energy, eg. electrific or mechanical: an electrificy line heats up as well as a stick rubbed against a stone. So magiqal energy would be a system of energy as it can use all possible forms of energy.
****This is, incidentally, probably a possible criterion for the distinction of magique from science fiction: science fiction seems to tend to invent new systems of energy that generally follow the formula W=P·T, whereas magique does not.
Ah, the plot thickens.
So my colleague-in-naming returns, having run afoul of the watchers at last. Whether or not he’s compromised, consider this proof of that assertion of mine from way back at the start of all things – even trying to say this isn’t about freedom of thought and all its grisly implications is a ridiculous assertion, unworthy of anybody’s time.
As the swarm thus begins to gather, the exterminators tense up and prepare for their moment. We’ll see how it goes. I will say that there is, of course, only one way of being truly safe – and that way has nothing to do with magique or science. But that is something everyone here should know, and anyone who doesn’t consider it and watch everyone else closely is just fodder protecting the rest of you a little longer.
Of course, my presence here was always going to act as a retardant towards others willing to discuss your thoughts. But that just means those who do speak up will be all the purer, the cream so to speak. It also, incidentally, changes the ratio of silent lurkers who are following, understanding and thinking – beyond the DUF itself, naturally – to those actually talking considerably.
As to unpredictability – yes, it is true, desperation is the most enthusiastic progenitor of invention. And as so much technology now in DUF hands will attest, it is always productive making an intelligent enemy inventive when you’re in such a position of power, as his inventions will become yours when you win.
But it is rather nice that the pot is stirring iself now. I doubt I shall stop – after all, I am enjoying this – but the stew will certainly be more flavoursome this way. Of course, that spice comes from wondering who will finally be served this meal, and This Here Observer has good reason to keep that wondering up.
Already, some of what I have written and hinted at has been examined and… interesting conclusions have been drawn.
I must profess myself somewhat mystified at points, however. I wonder – is the significance of a criticism of the thoughts of 200 years ago so subtle a clue? Yes, of course, if we look back with today’s eyes, yesterday seems silly. Trite and simple. Does that reveal nothing about the intentions of our dear Baruch towards today’s systems of knowledge and applications of discourse? To me, this is clear.
But then, I’ve made up my mind on Baruch’s motives, on some levels at least. Others may be more (less?) charitable.
Ah, my dear Baruch – now there’s more than one of us to contend with. Who are we? Where are we? Are we separate entities at all?
Most importantly – can we be trusted?
Or – and there’s a twist for all the uninvolved – it’s all just me, making these comments up as part of my self-promotion to appear important.
I have readers, you see!
Or rather: How do you even know that I exist myself? Has anyone ever met me in person?
We’ll get back to that later…
Answering that would tell you too much. Suffice to say – I do know whether you exist. Whether we have met is something you might one day know, Baruch.
And none of this will change all the DUF knows.
There was a philosopher once who appealed to the economy of thought in creating and applying hypotheses. This concept was called his razor, as it cuts off all complex theoretical constructions and assumptions if they have no explanatory power over simpler ones — and unless there is new evidence that might call for adaption or abandonment of your hypothesis in use.
So why do I bring this up?
Firstly: Considering the length of the respective commentaries and their argumentative content, it would be quite a leap of faith to assume Mr. Caan would write all these himself. It is far more economical to assume there is one person behind every alias. There is no evidence to assume otherwise.
Secondly: It is rather a waste of time and thought to ponder about what the DUF might or might not know in this context. To regard the DUF as some all-knowing kraken with unheard of sources of information and organizational power in which every single individual minutely and undeviatingly follows a well laid out path of action is quite a stretch — although this is what they seem to strive for, it fortunately remains a phantasm.
To allude to this again and again, however, does carry a stale aftertaste of mystifying obscurantism.
What teh frakk r u people talking about!!!???? And what happened to good old comments like “LOL”, “FIRST!” or “SHUT THE FUCK UP”??
Aye aye Capt’n Bligh!!!
NONSENSICALIOOO!!! This blog has become a waste of time! I’d rather jerk of to Avior Porn EVERY HOUR FROM NOW ON than reading this!
Haven Slacker out!
Obscurantism or healthy paranoia. If you assume your opponent will play a perfect game, you must play the safest way possible. To do anything less is to invite errors in judgement, which will eventually lead to disaster. It is exactly the point that the DUF is not omniscient; if they were, there would be little need for such as you, or myself.
You don’t have to believe the propaganda, even if you act as though it were true. Better that than ending up in a dark room somewhere because you wagered too heavily.
Of course, this is preaching to the choir, given your… past problems. I’m choosing to believe you for now, as your story has some ring of truth to it.
A more pertinent question would be – if we’re trying to play a perfect game and take only the most calculated risks, then why are we here? What’s the risk, what’s the possible gain? That is what they will ask themselves.
Could you elaborate more on the magiqe discourse? I mean just what are the odds of coming across the word “splitstream” twice in an hour in two totally unrelated articles, one of which was only used as a cover-up for the other?? I think I’ll better go dark for a while.