Creatures of Creation

Preface

For a modern consideration of philosophy there are several topics that deserve inclusion. Philosophy of beauty is one of them, along with the ‘male ego,’ and quantum physics, a post 19th-century discovery.

Then there are the incomplete theses. From institutions to jurisprudence, they pervade every aspect of modern life. They deserve completion.

I used to have the deluded view that, after taking time to research my arguments, I spoke the truth. I have backed down from this position. I offer certain ideas and a point of view.

You should take what is useful and reject the rest.

~~~

Chapter 1 — Gardens

To Jonas, life was simple. It didn’t require many years of schooling, training or preparation. Jonas had good instincts.

Then he met Ambiguity. The rabbit, in the shape of an objective, ran down the rabbit hole. It was long and winding, and lonely. He finally came out of the other side, bruised and battered, but alive.

Jonas decided to write a book about his experiences. After writing the first page he realized there was nothing more to say. It covered all the conclusions. So he gave up on writing a book. Maybe someone somewhere would read that one page, he thought. One day.

The baker’s daughter always smiled at him. Maybe she would read it.

~~~

Scores had arrived at this conclusion, some while slurping noodles, others while chomping on fufu. Yet more others while putting away pizza. It was outdated and needed revision.

One enterprising group decided to call for papers on culpability, crime and punishment in May of 2020. Their inbox flooded.

There was a quantum level of weirdness going on. People had noticed. The phenomena needed better explanations, and they were on a mission to find them.

~~~

Fluffy just winked. Did his eye sparkle? Lily tucked her orange Tiger into her suitcase giving it a pat and tummy rub for good measure. Fluffy was her constant companion through tough times as well as fun.

Although the packing was not yet complete, she called her parents to entertain them with plans to conquer the capital, Washedwell, D.C., a flair for the dramatic developed during her teen years.

Afterwards, an invigorating morning walk seemed appropriate. The vegetables and home crafts market, with all that was sun dried, and pickled, and fermented, and curdled, and baked, and distilled, and cured, noisy and bustling under the rag canopies, was always a favorite.

Later, finishing off a plump strawberry, she surveyed what to do next. The white Temple looked like it was organizing a parade for the full moon, so she popped in for a quick inspection.

Lily was about to fly to the capital to present her first-person research on the imbalance in cosmic forces, measurably equivalent to the Male Ego.

The unlikely topic was greenlighted by her professor. There was growing evidence that much of human strife was linked to this phenomenon. Some men didn’t agree. Some women didn’t either. The Trans community snorted.

It would be an opportunity for further investigation. And maybe a visit to the new society for ontology, it was abuzz on the internet.

But first the packing. It had to be done just right.

~~~

The Gardens. There were many gardens. They were endless, mysterious. Some rugged. Some illuminated. Everyone assumed they were extensions of their own. But they were mistaken. Often.

To call them extensions was a bit disrespectful. They had forgotten how puzzling each tree could be. To traverse one garden was a privilege. To want to explore more than one was a bit ambitious.

Some said there were seven, others said there were three hundred and forty nine. Many insisted it was just one really big garden.

The Philosophical Society for Ontology suggested the use of a small number, in relation to these gardens — small, yet complex enough to explore puzzles. Very puzzling puzzles.

~~~

Ontology referred to the ‘nature of being.’ Some bees were soft, some bees were loud. Some bees were erratic, and some bees were annoying. It was an important branch of Philosophy.

Many philosophers assumed humans had a singular ontology and nature of being. The Philosophical Society for Ontology, located on 110th Street, did not. The picture was more puzzling.

(To be continued)