The world will offer to unmask itself for you

6.52 We feel that even when all possible scientific questions have been answered, the problems of life remain completely untouched. Of course there are then no questions left, and this itself is the answer.

6.521 The solution of the problem of life is seen in the vanishing of the problem. (Is not this the reason why those who have found after a long period of doubt that the sense of life became clear to them have then been unable to say what constituted that sense?)

6.522 There are, indeed, things that cannot be put into words. They make themselves manifest. They are what is mystical.

6.53 The correct method in philosophy would really be the following: to say nothing except what can be said, i.e. propositions of natural science — i.e. something that has nothing to do with philosophy — and then, whenever someone else wanted to say something metaphysical, to demonstrate to him that he had failed to give a meaning to certain signs in his propositions. Although it would not be satisfying to the other person — he would not have the feeling that we were teaching him philosophy — this method would be the only strictly correct one.

6.54 My propositions are elucidatory in this way: he who understands me finally recognizes them as senseless, when he has climbed out through them, on them, over them. (He must so to speak throw away the ladder, after he has climbed up on it.)

7 What we cannot speak about we must pass over in silence.

— Wittgenstein

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You have no need to go out of the house. Stay at your table and listen. Don’t even listen, just wait. Don’t even wait, just be completely still and alone. The world will offer to unmask itself for you, it cannot do otherwise, it will disport itself before you ecstatically.

— Kafka

Belief

Q: That holiness you speak of, we seem bereft of it. It’s not in vogue to have that sense of spirituality anymore. Do you still cultivate it for yourself?

LC: I’m aware that I’m embraced by the absolute, as we are all embraced by the absolute. I feel that the technology for experiencing the absolute has been lost. But all the great religions have this experience, this information, this data, this technology which can [give you] this experience. I’ve always wondered why religions emphasise this idea of ‘belief’. Why should you believe in these matters? But experiencing these matters is available to all of us, experiencing the absolute is available. To be tyrannical or to be in some way oppressive about belief… I think it’s not fair to ask people to believe [when] they don’t experience. But we have the technology to experience the absolute, and I would just invite everybody to investigate their own religions. It’s not necessary to find a new one.

Leonard Cohen

A great opportunity

When you consider the fact of our little journey on the crust of this star, and the number of bridges, barriers, differentiations, diversions that we manage to construct for ourselves, to have an opportunity to dissolve them is really… a great opportunity. Because that moment is precisely there to dissolve those distinctions. If you don’t have moments when the distinctions are dissolved, then you become a very narrow, bitter, prejudiced, dogmatic kind of individual. Like I am most of the time. But from time to time I am permitted to dissolve these things.

Leonard Cohen

Perfection

We worship perfection because we can’t have it; if we had it, we would reject it. Perfection is inhuman, because humanity is imperfect.
   To achieve perfection would require a coldness foreign to man, and he would lose the human heart that makes him love perfection.
   In awe we worship the impulse to perfection of great artists. We love their approximation to perfection, but we love it because it is only an approximation.
   How tragic to believe in human perfectibility!
   How tragic not to believe in it!

— Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet (trans. R. Zenith)

To think of our greatest anxiety as an insignificant event

To think of our greatest anxiety as an insignificant event, not only in the life of the universe but also in the life of our own soul, is the beginning of wisdom. While we’re actually suffering, our human pain seems infinite. But human pain isn’t infinite, because nothing human is infinite, and our pain has no value beyond its being a pain we feel.
   How often, oppressed by a tedium that seems like insanity or by an anxiety that seems to surpass it, I stop, hesitating, before I revolt, I hesitate, stopping, before I deify myself. From among the pains there are — the pain of not grasping the mystery of the world, the pain of not being loved, the pain of being treated unjustly, the pain of life oppressing us, suffocating and restraining us, the pain of a toothache, the pain of shoes that pinch — who can say which is the worse for himself, let alone for someone else, or for the generality of those who exist?

— Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet (trans. R. Zenith)

Like madmen

‘He will laugh at the trials of the innocent.’ Silence of God. The noises here below imitate this silence. They mean nothing.
   It is when from the innermost depths of our being we need a sound which does mean something — when we cry out for an answer and it is not given us — it is then that we touch the silence of God.
   As a rule our imagination puts words into the sounds in the same way as we idly play at making out shapes in wreaths of smoke; but when we are too exhausted, when we no longer have the courage to play, then we must have real words. We cry out for them. The cry tears our very entrails. All we get is silence.
   After having gone through that, some begin to talk to themselves like madmen. Whatever they may do afterwards, we must have nothing but pity for them. The others, and they are not numerous, give their whole heart to silence.

— Simone Weil, Gravity and Grace (trans. E. Craufurd)

Desire

[God is limitless], and that which is limitless cannot by its nature be understood. And so every desire for the beautiful which draws us on this ascent is intensified by the soul’s very progress towards it. And this is the real meaning of seeing God: never to have this desire satisfied. But fixing our eyes on those things which help us to see, we must ever keep alive in us the desire to see more and more. And so no limit can be set to our progress towards God: first of all, because no limitation can be put upon the beautiful, and secondly because the increase in our desire for the beautiful cannot be stopped by any sense of satisfaction.

— Gregory of Nyssa

Incomprehensibility

The more [the soul] approaches the vision [of God], so much the more does it see that the divine nature is invisible. It thus leaves all surface appearances, not only those that can be grasped by the senses but also those that the mind itself seems to see, and it keeps on going deeper until by the operation of the spirit it penetrates the invisible and incomprehensible, and it is here that it sees God. The true vision and the true knowledge of what we seek consists precisely in not seeing, in an awareness that our goal transcends all knowledge and is everywhere cut off from us by the darkness of incomprehensibility.

— Gregory of Nyssa

The unnameable

‘The beyond-being’ does not refer to a some-thing, since it does not posit any-thing, nor does it ‘speak its name’. It merely indicates that it is ‘not that’. No attempt is made to circumscribe it. It would be absurd to circumscribe that immense nature. To wish to do so is to cut oneself off from its slightest trace.

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We find ourselves in an aporia, in agony over how to speak. We speak about the unsayable; wishing to signify it as best we can, we name it.

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The name ‘the one’ is merely a denial of multiplicity. We speak it so that we can begin our search with that which signifies the most simple, ending with the apophasis of even that.

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Then there can be no ‘thus’. It would be a delimitation and a some-thing. One who sees, knows that it is possible to assert neither a thus nor a not-thus. How can you say that it is a being among beings, something to which a thus can be applied? It is other than all things that are ‘thus’. But seeing the unlimited you will say that all things are below it, affirming that it is none of them, but, if you will, a power of absolute ontological self-mastery. It is that which it wills to be; or rather, the being that it wills to be it projects out into beings.

— Plotinus (quoted in Sells, Mystical Languages of Unsaying)

Revisions

The belief that a man can be saved outside the visible Church requires that all the elements of faith should be pondered afresh, under pain of complete incoherence. For the entire edifice is built around the contrary affirmation, which scarcely anybody today would venture to support.
   No one has yet wanted to recognise the need for such a revision. One gets out of the difficulty by having recourse to miserable expedients. The cracks are plastered over with ersatz cement, shocking mistakes in logic.
   Unless the Church recognises this need soon, it is to be feared that it will not be able to accomplish its mission.
   There is no salvation without a ‘new birth’, without an inward illumination, without the presence of Christ and of the Holy Spirit in the soul. If, therefore, salvation is possible outside the Church, individual or collective revelations are also possible outside Christianity. In that case, true faith constitutes a very different form of adhesion from that which consists in believing such-and-such an opinion. The whole notion of faith then needs to be thought out anew.

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The dogmas of the faith are not things to be affirmed. They are things to be regarded from a certain distance, with attention, respect and love. They are like the bronze serpent whose virtue is such that whoever looks upon it shall live. This attentive and loving gaze, by a shock on the rebound, causes a source of light to flash in the soul which illuminates all aspects of human life on this earth. Dogmas lose this virtue as soon as they are affirmed.
   The propositions ‘Jesus Christ is God’ or ‘The consecrated bread and wine are the body and blood of Christ’, enunciated as facts, have strictly speaking no meaning whatever.
   The value of these proposition is totally different from the truth contained in the correct enunciation of a fact (for example: Salazar is head of the Portuguese Government) or of a geometrical theorem.
   This value does not strictly speaking belong to the order of truth, but to a higher order; for it is a value impossible for the intelligence to grasp, except indirectly, though the effects produced. And truth, in the strict sense, belongs to the domain of the intelligence.

— Simone Weil, Letter to a Priest (trans. A.F. Wills)