more of the same, always

I realize that the incomplete reflection I summarized yesterday is only another part of my characteristic quarrel with both old-line rationalists and the culture of therapy: there is no automatic value to the effusions of the unconscious portions of the mind, but there is no automatic superiority to the productions of consciousness, either. What used to be called intellect and imagination form a much more complicated duo than that. As my regular readers already know and have written about from their own perspectives, doing something well does not mean that one will do it interestingly, any more than having a splendid intuition means that it will be of the slighest use or interest to anyone else. Whether the result of the overcoming of dualism is the brilliantly instantaneous calligraphy of the Zen monk or the ten-year project of the solo maker of the Lindisfarne Gospels, the outcome is a complex transaction, not a simple one.