The Conclave of Clarity

The previous article in the sequence is Why care about definitions?.

Firelight flickers.

You stand silently during the Ritual.

Chanting. Words pass into your senses. Complex but familiar. By virtue of repetition, they are sounds without meaning.

The lack of meaning brings not confusion, only void. A semantic void.

You would have been ready for confusion, had it arisen. Your sacred optimism practice would have sheltered you forthwith.

You settle into a practiced state of emptiness, but it is not to last. Your training failing, you slide towards the edge of nihilism. You reflexively try to escape by gaining mental purchase somewhere. You return your focus to the chanting. Can you pattern match this external stimuli against your internal framework? No. Nothing works. Your mind is peppered with undefined words, but this is not all. Worse still, you find hastily crafted vagueries where foundations should be.

Fear. Fear of ignorance. Fear of being perceived as such. Fear of being cast into the Abyss.

Indecision.

More chanting. Then silence.

The fire is extinguished via unshod pedal compression. Muted nocioceptive lamentations. Embers fade.

The ritual is over. You file out with the others. Fewer egress than ingressed. A hand on your shoulder. “Seeker, wait here”, says The Hierophant.

Dread. Is judgment imminent?

The Illuminator appears. “Seeker, in you, … the wisdom abides. You have been chosen. Take the Orb for you will illuminate the next conclave.”

The next article in the sequence is Criticism of Russell’s definition of intelligence.