Gregorovich wrote:I always feel philosophy is best described through fiction...
- Spoiler: show
- John didn’t quite remember how he got there. He didn’t even remember what he was doing before he got there – he was just there. No doors, or windows, or secret hatches, yet there he stood. Not even on a floor. No floor, just nothing. No walls either, incidentally. Just empty space, where the walls and door and windows and floor should be, and empty space beyond that. Not a white empty space, like you’re imagining now. Nor a black empty space. A colourless, shadeless empty space. A concept quite hard for the human mind to grasp, seeing as it relies upon the detection of photons of light, interpreted as colour and shade. No pun intended.
There were things, though. Quite a lot of things actually. In his mind, John compared them to pictures or paintings, although want of an easel or wall on which to place them. Just floating around in all the nothing. They displayed various images – some static, some moving, of what seemed to be abstract, depictions of strange, foreign places and objects. But not foreign as per the general usage. Not earthly. Not even universe-ly. It seemed to John as though only one from another universe altogether would ever have any hope of understanding these strange foreign portraits. The closest thing to which John could compare them was the artwork of M. C. Escher, although that was a tenuous comparison at best. A certain number almost seemed to be bearing some form of writing (naturally, nothing which John had ever come across before). Some of the things were moving, some were static, and some were operating in such a way as to defeat John’s entire comprehension. These things made John’s head hurt, so he tried not to look at them.
We always hated contemporary art, resounded a surprisingly-human voice from within one of the portraits. Modernist rubbish, it continued. There are no ends which the artist accomplishes that cannot be achieved by more accessible means. The only ends that the modernist style truly reaches are a complete alienation of the audience from the core ideas of the piece at hand. Modernist literature is like all modern art: purposefully transparent and ambiguous to give those who choose to partake in it the illusion of artistic prowess with actual minimal effort or skill from the artist. Another thing, this one bearing a striking resemblance to John himself (from the humanoid figure and complexion on its face down to its Converse trainers and Jack Wills t-shirt) had emerged from one of the portraits. John – that is to say, the first John, or the one whose narrative we have been following up until this point – had so many questions flitting around his head, begging to be answered, that he momentarily lost the function of speech. Luckily, the second John, or the one whose arrival into this limbo we have just observed, took the liberty of answering these questions for him – or at least as many as he could within the given time.
My name is John, as you might have guessed already. I couldn’t hope to explain to you where I have just come from – nor could you hope to explain the same to me. We both come from different ‘universes’, within the same existence. The fact that I bear such a resemblance to yourself, including my name and language, is entirely coincidental. Well, considered the second John, that’s not entirely true. Existence is perfect in its infiniteness, and thus, if there is an INFINITE amount of existence, it is equally likely – one hundred per cent likely, in fact – that there are also an INFINITE number of Johns, who speak English and each have the same appalling dress sense. The only reason one of these Johns is standing before you now is that you would probably have a much harder time conversing with an entity whose very nature of existence is entirely beyond the comprehension of either of us Johns – and I rather doubt that it would speak English, either. I suppose it also helps that this particular John understands the workings of existence well enough to explain it to another John, which has a considerably lesser comprehension of it. Not that I understand existence in its entirety – the one thing which all our universes do indeed have in common is that no entity within them possesses the potential to truly understand existence. That, and the fact that our universes are not, in themselves, infinite. In time or space. As to where we are right now – I don’t know myself. Honestly, I would tell you if I did. But I haven’t the faintest idea. Sorry.
The second John ended here, allowing the first John time to process this information. However, being a keen physicist and philosopher, this didn’t take him as long to digest as it may take the average human. After a pause, this John spoke. I think, he pondered, I’m starting to understand. We live in our own universes, which are imperfect in themselves, in that they are finite in both space and time.
Correct.
But these universes are infinite in number?
Correct.
And collectively they are known as existence?
Exactly. Existence is infinite in both space and time.
But surely existence can only be as large and as long-lasting as the largest and longest-lasting universe?
Tell me, how big is the biggest of an infinite number of universes? And how long-lasting is the longest-lasting?
Ah.
Indeed.
So some universes grow and die, while others live on for an indefinite amount of time?
The idea of time works independently though all universes. The same with space.
So they coexist infinitely?
Sort of.
Can any two universes be alike?
Alike? Yes. Identical? No. There are an infinity of universes out there, which are identical to yours in every possible way – except that, at one point in its history (around thirty billion years, if I’m not mistaken), a single photon of light moved at an infinitesimal fraction of a degree in a different direction. How many times can one split a degree? An infinite amount. So there are an infinite number of these universes, all almost identical to each other.
I think my head’s starting to hurt, complained the first John.
I wouldn’t worry.
I suppose this means that there isn’t a God, then.
Well, smiled the second John, that depends what you mean by a God. If you mean an entity of true infinite power, then no. The only entity of true infiniteness in existence is existence itself. But anything less than that – say, a gigantic, old, white-robed, white-bearded man with the ability to create planets and life – is more than likely.
It’s one hundred per cent likely.
You’re getting it now.
But in our universe, we can be sure that there is no God.
I wouldn’t say that if I were you. If there are an infinite number of ‘Gods’ in existence, then that means there are also an infinite number of Gods with the ability to transcend the barrier between one universe and another. So it’s entirely possible that, should God not exist in your universe, you have been visited by one.
Inter-universe travel is possible? queried the first John.
Well, we’re here now, aren’t we?
True. Very true.
Just as it is one hundred per cent likely that an infinite number of inter-dimensional Gods exist, explained the second John, it is just as likely that an infinite number of sentient humanoids exist, who are prone to wearing books upon their feet, and whose heads look, smell and taste like sausage rolls.
You have sausage rolls in your universe?
Of course. They’re fantastic.
I understand now. The speed of light is 3x108 m/s in our universe, while Planck’s constant is 6.626x10-34 m2kg/s. But these will be completely different in other universes.
They may not even exist in other universes. Who is to say that photons exist at all in any given universe?
That makes sense. Perfect sense. I actually think I get it. This John started to smile to himself.
Good, then you have learned most of what I hoped to teach you.
Why are you doing this?
There’s nothing wrong with sharing a little wisdom.
But I thought you said that you didn’t know how you got here.
I don’t.
I see, sighed the first John. Just as things finally appeared to be falling into place within his own mind, he envisioned an INFINITY of complexity before him. In that case, he suddenly perked up, I have one final question. What of free will? If everything in the universe is infinite, but no two universes are perfectly alike, are we able to change anything? Or are we all bound to follow the path existence has dictated for us?
The second John seemed very pleased at this question. Let me begin, he began, by referencing a writer, historian and philosopher of my time, a man called Tovstol:
“Can I lift my arm? I lift it, but ask myself: could I have abstained from lifting my arm at the moment that has already passed? To convince myself of this I do not lift it the next moment. But I am not now abstaining from doing so at the first moment when I asked the question. Time has gone by which I could not detain, the arm I then lifted is no longer the same as the arm I now refrain from lifting, nor is the air in which I lifted it the same that now surrounds me. To imagine it as free, it is necessary to imagine it in the present, on the boundary between the past and the future- that is, outside time, which is impossible.”
If he were to lift his arm due to his own choice, or due to the mere fact that it was always going to happen, is one of the greatest questions of existence, which I do not believe we have the potential to answer. But I have my own question – does it matter? One way or the other, we are at least given the illusion of free will and that is what makes the difference. We are not conscious prisoners of existence. Free will is a lie, and so is determinism. And with that, my new friend John, I think it’s time for you to go.
Thank you, is all the first John could say. The pair stood in awkward silence for a moment, expecting something to happen. They both looked away, their eyes chasing the infinity of nothing which continually encircled them, trying to avoid the confusing portraits. After a certain period of time, the first John had decided in his mind that it was not actually time for him to go, and that he had another question for his counterpart. If we both arrived here, he started, without the knowledge of how, or when, or why, then what will happen on our return? Will we forget everything, and start again? Will we be the same people? It’s like death: if you –
And with that, the first John disappeared from existence.
The bit about inter-universe travel is rubbish. I just put that in there for narrative convenience. If inter-universe travel was possible, then as the possibilities of universes are infinite, there would be an infinite number of entities which would travel to our universe and do an infinite number of things. Which is impossible.
Edit: You don't have to read it btw. But I think FuckT will out of morbid curiosity.
Last night I came home drunk looking and acting like Nixon having promiscuous sex with a bunch of retarded beavers staring out of a purulent vagina, offering my defense in the case of Watergate, or should I rather say, the evident lack thereof. Now one would have to pursue the matter at hand very diligently in order to understand why such an image would prompt the human mind to visit this website (that I barely even remember, but obviously I still have some variation of a connection to it) and to send forth the inexorable mental faculties which I have been developing in such a manner that the abstract and the physical appear to have been dancing together in a sort of an awkward, perverse kind of way, to ponder a problem that I have forgotten completely long ago, at least consciously.
I have experimented with mushrooms, LSD, alcohol, weed, 2cb and I've also had a one night stand with meth and MDMA, though LSD and magic mushrooms are the only substances that I have found, upon traversing the road of drugs, to have any soporific effect upon the natural, programmed functioning of a human brain that I would call favorable. Of course weed makes you think sometimes, while alcohol makes you not give a single fuck about anything, but still it does not deviate the normal functions of the brain into such an existence that suddenly you realize that the images you perceive can actually be altered by the conscious effort of your precious imagination. I have also enforced the ideas of sleep deprivation, predetermined loss of an appreciable amount of blood, and some other things I would rather not dare to enlighten you about. The blood experience feels really amazing for a while, yet it can become difficult, after a certain interval of time has passed, to actually see the importance of assisting your body in the task of coagulation. I have kept it quite in the safe degree, absolutely under my control, I daresay.
After a whole lot of bizarre experiences that I have been through, there is a quote that I seem to be unable to get out of my head, for as seemingly obvious as the conclusion of the statement appears to be, I have a strong feeling that somehow it is actually capable of eluding comprehension, at least while trapped within the bounds of a normal, ordinary perception, which would represent most of the time in most of our lives. The quote is:
And the will therein lieth, which dieth not. Who knoweth the mysteries of the will, with its vigor? For God is but a great will pervading all things by nature of its intentness, Man doth not yield himself to the angels, nor unto death utterly, save only through the weakness of his feeble will.
– Joseph Glanvill
Yet once, under the influence of psilocybin, resting my useless body on the ground in a forest where the harvest itself has taken place, I could really understand it, for a MOMENT, at the very least. I could really see it. Me thinks that the human mind is, occasionally and under exceptional circumstances, allowed to penetrate the mysteries of existence, yet due to the fact that it is not accustomed and moreover, not meant to and lacking the means to understand them at any given moment, he can only live them and then remember, well, something, but the feeling and the certainty is gone forever. You are only allowed to remember a possibility and recall it whenever you feel like it, but the initial power of the experience is gone, the latter part of the sentence being analogous to ordinary experiences such as seeing Sum 41 live.
However, there are many circumstances that people encounter that form their character and beliefs. I believe that intuition is too magnanimous a friend, indeed so generous a brother that its equipment can lead to many an answer concerning not only the endless, truly infinite realms of the abstract, but is also applicable within the boundaries of those empires that are strictly physical.
At the present moment, I feel like I have finally exhausted most of the naturally unnatural, or unnaturally natural, means of altering one's perception. Thus I have resolved to approach meditation as one of the possibilities, which I now must describe as a lot of work and barely any fun. Nonetheless, my morbid curiosity compels me to persevere, and I will.
If you haven't quite grasped what I am trying to say, as of yet, I will offer you a final elaboration that should clear it up a bit, I hope. To put it simply, with answers to questions that are not meant to be grasped, and shall not be meddled with even after a thorough application of a posteriori or a priori reasoning, intuition allows you to peek behind the curtain and maybe there is even a chance to actually reach some satisfactory conclusions.
Perhaps you haven't visited this website in a long, long time, just like me. But I said I would read the story and so I did, just a couple of hours ago. But as you may already know, if you have bothered to read any amount of that useless banter I have written, I have nothing to say pertaining to the story, for as I have already declared, matters of this kind cannot be approached without the label of a philosophical hypothesis, and can only be EXPERIENCED, and even that only occasionally.
I have just fucked that last beaver goodnight, so now I have to depart.