Sunday, February 06, 2011
Consciousness exists in a band of circumstantial precision. We can reach outside this band with theory and praxis, but we can not live there. The atom will never be as real as this wooden table, as this plastic keyboard. Our genetic ancestors will never have the presence that our children do, and so will naturally possess an element of fantasy, not quite real, distant and difficult to resolve. We find ourselves squinting at these concepts, these realities outside of our perception.
All men, for all time, have lived their lives within this perceptual band. They may have had a narrower band, but none larger. Different men have different perceptual capacities and so will have different bands. The human consciousness is bounded by our perceptual capabilities, in this we are all equal. These boundaries differ but the standard deviation is incredibly small. Greater deviation is to be found in the way this space is occupied. Imagine our perceptual band is a long sheet of brilliantly white butchers paper. Each tiny step of thought, each pixel of knowledge and conception, all that could be said to happen within our minds, all that could be called a component of consciousness, all these things leave small inky black wet prints. There are darker spots in the center, venturing out, covering the paper. Areas of thick tracking look likes mountains or lines of terrain. Stand back a few feet and it appears a map, constantly being redrawn but at a level of detail that you can no longer perceive. Stand further back, it can seem static at this distance, but you know it teams, you must but step a bit closer, now closer still.